Right on Time
by Sarah1281
Summary: Thrown out of the house before he even turned eighteen, things are not looking good for Stan. His mother can't change his father's mind and who knew if Ford ever planned on speaking to him again. He can't expect a miracle from them. But maybe it's not home or the streets. Maybe there's one last hope for still having a family. Thank goodness for older brothers. AU
1. Chapter 1

When Shermie got to his parent's house after work that night to pick up his son, he found Ford sitting on the front step holding Isaac.

"Ford?"

Ford looked up, looking like he hadn't slept in days. He had looked just fine that morning. Better than fine, he had been really excited about his presentation for West Coast Tech. There was no need to ask how that had gone, was there?

"He just fell asleep," Ford told him vaguely.

Shermie bent down to take the baby. "Why are you out here?"

Ford jerked his head toward the house. "It's too loud in there. He wouldn't stop crying."

Isaac was not all that fussy of a baby. He'd been known to sleep through the vacuum before. He wondered just what was going on in there that Ford felt he had to take the baby outside.

"Well thanks for bringing him out here," he said. "I know that you don't always have a lot of time to take away from your studies."

Ford let out a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob.

Now he was getting concerned. "Ford?"

"I don't think I'd get anything done tonight anyway."

"What's going on?" Shermie asked, an anxious feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.

"I…" Ford trailed off, shaking his head. "I just…"

It was clear that Ford wasn't going to be able to get the words out easily and Shermie decided not to force it out of him.

"I'm going to go get Isaac's things, maybe talk to Mom and Dad," Shermie told him.

At last, Ford stood up. "You'd better give me Isaac back, then. It took forever for him to fall asleep and you're not going to want to bring a screaming baby in there, trust me."

Shermie handed his son back and, bracing himself, entered the house.

"-please! He had this coming for years! Just because he was always your favorite doesn't mean that he wasn't dragging this family down from the moment the doctors told us you still had one more to go!" his father was shouting.

"Why don't you tell me why you had his goddamn bag packed? None of us knew that was going to happen!" his mother screamed back.

The thing was, Shermie's parents did argue. They argued an awful lot sometimes and they never seemed to have a problem doing it in front of their children. But something about this felt different. Something about this felt like something he didn't really want to get in the middle of but he needed Isaac's things and if something had happened that was so bad it through his family into disarray then at some point he was going to have to face it.

Shermie spied Isaac's bag, already packed, and picked it up before following the sounds of his parents' fight.

They were in the kitchen and his mother was holding a steak knife, not that this seemed to make his father uncomfortable in any way.

"He could be dead for all you know!"

"It's been two hours. He's fine," his father said dismissively.

"Mom, Dad," Shermie said loudly.

They turned towards him as one.

"Oh, Shermie," his mother said, sounding flustered. "I see you found the bag. Isaac is…he's…"

"Ford has him outside," Shermie assured her. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"Your father," his mother said with an angry look in his father's direction, "has thrown your brother out to die on the streets."

Shermie felt his blood run cold. He had thought it was unusual that Ford had been the one to take Isaac and flee outside while Stan was nowhere to be seen. He had thought maybe Stan just hadn't been home.

"Stanley?"

"He is no longer welcome in my house," his father said coldly. "And it is my house paid for with my money."

"You're not the only one who makes money around here," his mother retorted.

"Why? What happened?" Shermie asked, trying to keep them on track. It didn't make sense. This morning, when he dropped Isaac off, his father had been so happy, actually smiling for once. The words 'I'm impressed' had left his lips multiple times! The only times Shermie had ever heard his father say those words before was when he graduated college with honors and then when Isaac was born. And sure Stan had been a little quiet but not looking as if he were in any danger of being kicked out!

"Your brother's project didn't work," his father said curtly. "It stopped moving and he isn't going to be able to go to West Coast Tech like we'd hoped. This severely reduces his chances of making millions one day."

Of course with his father it all came back to money. Shermie closed his eyes briefly to try and hold back a powerful urge to deck his father. Ford lost his dream – no wonder he looked so out of it outside – and now he'd lost his twin, too. There was no more future millions so somehow Stanley was cast out.

"What does that have to do with Stan?" Shermie asked, as calmly as he was able.

"It turns out that that knucklehead sabotaged his project," his father said.

Shermie couldn't believe his ears. "No. He wouldn't."

"He did," his father confirmed. "He didn't even deny it and Ford found one of those stupid toffee peanut bags he's always eating right by it. I guess he was jealous of Ford's success and trying to drag him back down to his level. He's _always_ been pulling him down. I've put up with that for as long as I could, on account of him being family, but I will not stand for him sabotaging this family's future. If he can somehow bring us millions of dollars then I'll welcome him back and even apologize. Until then, I am washing my hands of this whole sorry state of affairs."

"He's your _son_!" his mother cried.

"I never wanted twins." With that, he turned to go.

The moment he left the room, all the fight seemed to drain out of his mother. She dropped the knife on the counter and broke down crying.

Shermie wasn't really sure what to do. The news that his seventeen-year-old brother had been thrown away like so much garbage and that something had happened to Ford's project was hitting him hard, too. And he had never seen his mother cry before.

But what else could he do but hold her?

Eventually, she calmed down and assured him that she was fine and was just going off to bed. Given that his parents shared a bedroom he wasn't so sure of that but she insisted and what else was he supposed to do? Stand here all night?

Reluctantly, he went back outside.

Ford was still holding his sleeping nephew and looking like the sky had fallen.

"I told you," Ford said listlessly.

"I can't believe any of it," Shermie said, shaking his head. "I mean, I knew that Dad wasn't too thrilled about having twins and you know all the effort he put into your guy's names. But still, to just… _Stan_. I am never going to forgive him for this."

"He'll be okay," Ford said but he sounded as though he was trying to convince himself.

"I know he will be," Shermie agreed.

Ford looked up at him, surprise in his eyes.

"I have to go," Shermie said gently. "You should get some sleep."

Ford nodded vaguely in a way that made it clear he probably wasn't going to get a wink of it before handing Isaac back.

Shermie drove home as quickly as he felt comfortable, explained the situation to Rachel, and left again to find his brother.

He had no idea where a distraught Stan might flee to and could only hope he wasn't going to do something drastic. Being kicked out of the house before you even graduated high school would be upsetting for anyone, never mind someone who valued family as much as Stanley. And if there was any truth to the idea that he had had something to do with Ford's project breaking it would be worse. Ford might know but the last thing Shermie wanted to do right now was ask him something like that. If he couldn't find him by morning then he'd talk to Ford about it when he dropped Isaac off but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

He didn't want his little brother to have to spend the night in his car.

It took nearly two hours of driving around before Shermie finally spotted Stan's car parked by the beach. He had never been so relieved to see anything in his life.

He made what could charitably be called the worst parking job of his life before jumping out of the car and racing forward.

There he was, sitting on a swing with his head hunched forward.

Shermie was so relieved he couldn't even move for a second before suddenly springing back into action.

"Stan!" he cried out, running towards his brother.

Stan looked up, blinking confusedly at him. Had he been crying? "Shermie? What are you doing here? "

"I've been looking for you for hours!"

"For me? Why?" Stan asked blankly.

That stopped Shermie up short. How could he even ask that? "Because you're my brother and I heard what happened. Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Ford's not here."

Shermie dropped down on the unoccupied swing. "He's really upset. So is Mom."

"Ma, maybe," Stan conceded. "But I was begging Ford to back me up, to stop Dad from tossing me out and he just closed the curtain and turned his back on me."

Oh, Ford.

"Our parents were having a huge screaming fight when I got there, Stanley. Ford had to take Isaac outside," Shermie said. "Mom was really not happy with what happened. And if she couldn't stop Dad, do you really think it's fair to expect Ford to have been able to?"

Stan sighed heavily and looked down. "It's not like I thought he'd be able to stop it. I just didn't expect him to turn away when I needed him."

"Well, he shouldn't have done that, I agree," Shermie said.

"You do?" Stan asked, surprised.

"Why is it so surprising I'm against my seventeen-year-old brother being thrown out?" Shermie asked the world at large.

"You said they told you what happened," Stan said hesitantly.

"Some of it, yeah, but it doesn't-"

"I didn't mean to break it," Stan interrupted. "It's just…they called him down to the principal's office yesterday. Well, no, they called both of us only to tell us when we got there they only wanted Ford. Mom and Dad were there. I could hear them through the door. He went on about what a genius Ford was and West Coast Tech and Dad even said he was impressed!"

He looked beseechingly at Shermie who nodded. He knew what a big deal that was.

"Then Ma asked about me and the principal said I was lucky if I even graduated. Apparently I'm an idiot, even more when compared to Ford's brilliance."

"Oh, that is absolutely not true," Shermie argued.

Stan laughed harshly. "Sure it is. I wouldn't have even made it this far if I hadn't been able to copy off of Ford since the seventh grade."

"Okay, well, you may have gotten better grades copying off of Ford but that's really no way to learn yourself," Shermie said. "But not listening in class or doing the work doesn't make you stupid."

"Does ruining everything for everyone make me stupid then?"

"Why don't you tell me what happened," Shermie suggested. "You didn't want Ford to move to the other side of the country, right?"

"It's just so far away!" Stan burst out. "We've never been apart before. And maybe that couldn't last forever but…it's the other side of the country! I'd go from seeing him every day to seeing him on Thanksgiving or something. And he didn't even seem to care."

"I'm sure that's not true," Shermie said. "He probably just got caught up in how excited he was about the school and didn't think about what he'd be leaving behind. And for him, leaving everything behind would at least be compensated by his exciting new school. You would just lose him and not get anything from it."

"Yeah, exactly!" Stan exclaimed. "He did say I could come visit him but…it's a really long way away. But I didn't mean to ruin this for him."

"I know you didn't." And Shermie did know. This was Stan. He may not always think his actions through but he would never have hurt Ford on purpose. Never.

"I went back to the gym. I knew it was a bad idea but I just had to. I found his project and I just got so mad that I…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "I didn't touch the project. I didn't try to break it. But I just hit the table it was on and one of the pieces popped off. I tried to put it back! It was still moving and everything when I left. I knew I should have told him but I thought he'd get mad at me for messing with it. I really didn't think anyone would notice. Now the joke's on me. If I had told him then maybe he could have fixed it. Now he doesn't get to go to West Coast Tech and I lost him anyway."

Shermie was at a loss for words. He wanted to tell Stanley that everything was going to be alright, that of course Ford was going to forgive him. From the looks of it, their mother didn't need to and something told him he shouldn't even bother counting on their father. And, logically, it made sense. Ford wasn't going to spend the next fifty years refusing to get over this. But maybe he would. These things happened sometimes, didn't they? And if Ford forgave him in a year it wouldn't help him _now_.

"It was an accident," he said helplessly.

"That's what I tried to tell him," Stan said. "But he accused me of ruining his chances on purpose. And then Dad threw me out before I could explain and said not to come back until I have millions. So that's what I'm doing now. Sitting here and trying to figure out the best way to do that."

"Stan, I've come to take you home with me."

Stan's mouth dropped open. "W-what? But Dad said-"

"Dad can kick you out of his house if he wants to," Shermie interrupted. "I'm not sure how legally he can do it since you're only seventeen but then I'm not a lawyer. I don't know. He can't kick you out of my house and, frankly, I'd like to see him try."

Stan continued to stare at him for a second before shaking himself. "What, you don't think I can make it on my own? I don't need your pity."

Did Shermie think that Stan could have a good life suddenly abandoned with no notice at seventeen with no real money and no diploma? Probably not. But that had nothing to do with Stan himself and everything to do with the ridiculous situation their father had put him in.

But that wasn't what Stan needed to hear.

"I'm sure you could," Shermie said soothingly. "But think about me."

"You?"

"How am I supposed to keep going to work and living my life knowing that you're out there and not knowing what's going on with you? I'm sure if you're off, um, treasure hunting or whatever you wouldn't have a lot of time to call your big brother. Maybe you wouldn't even have a phone. You know I've become a much bigger worrier since I became a father."

Stan snorted. "That's definitely true."

"Come on, Stan," Shermie pleaded. "I know I can't force you but I've been really worried tonight, even though you were fine over here. Can you just humor me and come home with me?"

"I guess I could stay the night," Stan said reluctantly. "Try and plan out my next moves a little better."

"Or you can stay until you graduate from high school and either go to college or get a job," Shermie countered.

Stan's fingers tightened on the swing rope. "You can't expect me to go back there."

"Why not?" Shermie asked. "You're seventeen, Stanley. You're a senior in high school. You went to school today, didn't you?"

"That was before all this happened!" Stan said, gesturing wildly.

"And not everything's changed," Shermie said. "School hasn't."

"But I ruined Ford's project."

"And I'm pretty sure they won't expel you for that. If they even know and if they can even prove it," Shermie said. "I don't think Ford would report you to the school. This is…enough. It's too much, really, and you don't need more."

"Ford doesn't expect me to ever come back to school," Stan insisted. "Which I'm not, by the way."

"Why not?"

"How am I going to pass anything? I only ever passed because I was copying off of Ford for years! Dad…Dad was right about me."

"He was not," Shermie said sharply. "I mean, I'm not saying it's going to be easy. You'll probably be confused about the material at first and your grades will go down and you might need to ask the teachers for extra help. But I'm going to be here to help you with anything you need and so will Rachel. And she's a nurse so you know she's a smart lady."

"I can't ask you for that," Stan protested.

"You're going to be begging us to stop tutoring you."

"How am I going to walk in there tomorrow and the day after and the day after until I graduate and see Ford in all of my classes?" Stan demanded. "He just stood there and let Dad kick me out! And I took away his stupid school."

"And it will be hard," Shermie admitted. "But it will be hard for him, too. And you won't even have to talk to him. Do you think he's going to go and yell at you in front of everyone at school?"

"No," Stan said. "But I don't want him to ignore me."

"I know, Stan, I know," Shermie said gently, patting him a little awkwardly on the shoulder. "But look at it this way. If you just drive off into the night and only keep in contact with me and Mom – and she is going to want to hear from you – then what chance do you ever have to start talking again? If you never see each other, it would be too easy to just…not talk. And then before you know it it's been a year or two or five and then you'll spend the rest of your life never talking to each other again."

"I don't think we're literally never going to talk to each other again," Stan said skeptically.

"Great! So you're optimistic," Shermie said brightly. "Might as well get all the initial awkwardness out of the way now and make sure that Ford can't just decide you're not a part of his life anymore. Because, like it or not, you're going to be his classmate for the rest of the year."

Stan scowled. "I never agreed to nothing! I don't even talk to anyone besides him! I can't just go to school and not talk to anyone all day. I can't."

If Stan didn't talk to anyone else, chances were that Ford didn't either. He was still so sensitive about that extra finger, and not always without cause.

"What about Carla?" Shermie asked reasonably. "Doesn't she go to your school?"

"Well, yeah," Stan admitted. "But she's got her own friends."

"Try talking to them sometime," Shermie suggested. "I've spent loads of time with Rachel's friends and she's hung out a bunch with mine. I'm not saying you have to follow her around school – you probably shouldn't do that – but it'll give you a starting off point. You just need more practice having friends who aren't your brother."

"I'm not very good at only having my brother as my friend," Stan said glumly.

"Well…just don't accidentally sabotage _their_ science fair projects and you should be good!"

Stan let out a startled laugh. "Shermie, that is _not_ funny."

"Agree to disagree," Shermie said breezily.

Stan looked at him for a moment, his resolve clearly weakening. "Can't I just skip the rest of the week and go back on Monday?"

Shermie shook his head. "I know it might seem like it would be easier but you don't want to get into the habit of hiding from your problems, Stan. And you don't want the school to call Mom and Dad or make people think that something's wrong. And just because Ford's mad at you right now and might be mad for a long time doesn't mean he's going to want to not know what happened to you after you drove off into the night."

"He wouldn't worry," Stan insisted.

"We won't have to find out."

"You really don't mind?" Stan asked, almost too quietly for Shermie to hear.

"No, of course not. You're my brother and I'm not just going to let you live in your car," Shermie said. "I talked to Rachel about it and she informed me we were taking you in even before I could suggest it to her."

"But you two are trying to save money," Stan protested. "That's why you're both working and why Mom looks after Isaac."

"As far as us both working goes, Rachel loves her job and I could suddenly inherit twenty million dollars and she'd still want to keep her job. Plus, it's not like you're going to have a ton of expenses," Shermie said. "I mean, you don't eat _that_ much and, I don't know, maybe clothes eventually or something. It'll be fine. It's not like we'll have to pay more rent or anything. And maybe you could get a job on the weekends or something, I don't know. We'll figure it out."

"Dad was pretty mad, though."

"Good for him," Shermie said, unimpressed. "I'm pretty mad at him myself."

"What if he won't let Mom look after Isaac because you took me in?" Stan asked, worried.

"It's really none of his business where you go after he kicked you out," Shermie said. "I don't think that Mom's going to give in on helping me with Isaac, not after she couldn't stop you from getting kicked out. And even if that does happen, we'll work something out. We could probably get Rachel's sister to look after him or something."

"I could-"

"No."

"You didn't even hear what I was going to say!" Stan protested.

"You can feel free to watch Isaac when you get home from school or on the weekends," Shermie said. "But you're not leaving school to be our babysitter. An education is too important."

Stan rolled his eyes disgustedly. "You sound like Ford."

"I sound like someone who understands the power of knowledge."

"How can you even say crap like 'the power of knowledge' with a straight face?" Stan asked. "You know I'm never going to be a nerd like you two."

"I'm not a nerd," Shermie protested. "I just went to college. And you don't have to be. You don't even have to go to college – though, seriously, consider it – but you're almost done with high school. At least stick that out."

Stan shook his head and stood up. "Boy, you do not believe in doing something for nothing, do you?"

"It's for your own good!" Shermie insisted, standing up as well.

Stan started to walk back to the cars.

Shermie tried and probably failed to hide his relief at Stan agreeing to come with him. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if Stan insisted on trying his boneheaded make it on his own plan. Yes, that was what their father had left him to do but, fortunately, Stan had other family who clearly cared far more about him than their father did.

"Hey, Shermie?" Stan asked quietly once they had reached the cars. He wasn't looking at him.

"Yeah?"

"I just…thanks."


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Shermie was reluctant to take Isaac over to his parents' house in a way he never had been before. It wasn't as though he didn't understand it but it still felt wrong. They were just his parents. It was just his father. His father who had thrown own son out on the street. Shermie had a son, too, and he would die before he would do that to little Isaac.

Rachel watched him reorganize his briefcase three times before she finally said, "It's going to be fine. If you want, I can take him today."

"I can't ask you to do that," Shermie said immediately.

"Funny thing is, when I offer to do something it's the opposite of you asking me to do it," she said.

"They're _my_ parents."

"Which is why you're taking this so much harder than I am," Rachel said. "I mean, I don't know how I'm going to be able to even look at your father but I don't know him anywhere near as well as you do. It's not the same thing, not at all."

Shermie sighed. "It's tempting but it's the same thing I told Stanley when he wanted to stay home today. We can't start hiding from the things that make us uncomfortable."

"You probably don't want to just cut off contact with your family while they're looking after Isaac for free," Rachel said slowly. "But don't force it. They didn't do this to you but this isn't the sort of thing you would have ever seen coming."

"And while the supposed offence is pretty serious, as far as these things go, what about Ford? God, I haven't even had time to really think about him yet and it's his twin and his lost opportunity. They can't kick me out and if they – he – refuses to keep watching Isaac we'll get by. I just feel like he's lost his damn mind."

"If it comes to it, of course we'll take Ford in, too," Rachel said gently. "But with the sudden promise of Ford's potential millions, even not at West Coast Tech, I don't think your father would throw him out. It's only another year."

"Stanley couldn't believe we'd take him in," Shermie said.

Rachel nodded. "It makes sense. His family kicked him out. His parents kick him out and his twin brother, his best friend, just turns his back. Why would he expect you'd be any different?"

"It'd be nice if he did but…I know. Of course I would. Of _course_ I would. I remember the day he was born. But he did have a point about money being tight and you didn't have to agree so readily."

"I really did, though," Rachel said. "He's your brother and he's only seventeen. And my family never had much money either but they would _never_. My brother ran off to Woodstock, you know. He burned his draft card. I don't think he's had a haircut in three years. And my parents look like they want to, I don't know, exorcise him every time they see him but he still comes home for all the holidays. I just can't believe anyone would do that."

"I just can't believe _my_ family would do that," Shermie said grimly. "I mean, I always knew that we had problems but it's a far cry from that to 'Best of luck, kid.' If I hadn't found him, I might have never seen him again. My brother could be one of those guys you see on the street and I just…I _can't_."

"I know," Rachel said, pulling him into a brief hug.

"And my father doesn't even care. Maybe, if I'm lucky, he'll already regret it and want to take it back. But even if he does, I don't trust Stan in that house. Not after that. He can't live under the threat of eviction, even if Dad would never do it again. And if he doesn't regret it…" He took a deep breath. "I need to do this. It won't be as hard the next time I go over there."

"Is your brother awake yet?" Rachel asked.

Shermie shook his head. "I didn't have the heart. I don't think he fell asleep for a long time last night. But he's going to be late if I let him sleep too much longer."

"You just worry about Isaac and your parents," Rachel told him. "I'll wake him up and drop him off at school on my way to work. It should only be a little out of the way."

He kissed her. "I love you."

She kissed him back. "I know but it's nice to hear it."

With that, snapped his briefcase shut and grabbed it and the baby bag. He picked Isaac up gently and headed out to the car.

The entire drive there, he just kept repeating to himself 'It's only your parents. It's only your parents.'

But it wasn't, not anymore. They were also the people who had thrown his brother out. Or at least his father was but his mother was inextricably tied up in him.

He let himself in and the house was, for once, completely silent. Even Isaac was quiet although chances were that that wouldn't last.

Ford was sitting at the kitchen table poking listlessly at his cereal.

His father's face was covered by a newspaper and his mother was aggressively washing dishes.

"Oh, Shermie!" she exclaimed when she noticed he was there.

He summoned up a smile for her. "Hey, Ma."

"And there's Isaac," his mother said, drying her hands off and reaching out for him.

"Ma, Isaac was a little fussy last night so Rachel made me promise to tell you about the treatment her sister swears by," Shermie said. "I brought something for it in the bag."

Looking curious, his mother followed him back into the living room.

"I didn't want to say this in front of Dad," Shermie said in a low voice.

His mother's breath caught. "Stanley?"

"I found him last night. I took him home with me. I'm going to take care of him, Mom."

His mother's eyes filled with tears and he had to move his arms so that she didn't crush Isaac in the bone-crushing hug she gave him.

"My baby…" she murmured. "How is he? Did he sleep okay?"

"He's pretty upset," Shermie said. "He wasn't happy I told him he had to go to school today. I really don't know about sleeping but he's not on the street. He's not disappearing into the wind. It's going to be hard but we're going to get through this."

"Thank you," she kept saying. "Thank you."

It was a little hard to stand there and be thanked for what was pretty much the minimum of human decency, not allowing your kid brother to starve on the streets, but he understood. This was his father's house and his mother couldn't be the one to save Stanley, much as she wanted to. Putting Stan up would be a setback, of course it would, but it was one that he could bear. It was one that he and Rachel were in complete agreement about.

He didn't even want to think about what had happened if they had turned to Rachel's family instead of his own to watch Isaac. They had almost done that but his mother was home alone so much of the day while the twins were at school and his father at work and she just loved Isaac so much that they had turned to her. If he hadn't been there that night, if he hadn't heard what had happened in enough time…it wasn't as though anyone had called him to tell him the news.

But it hadn't happened. He had been there and he taken Stan home with him and things were, somehow, going to be alright.

Once his mother had almost pulled herself together, Shermie went back into the kitchen. "Hey, Stanford, how about I give you a ride to school today?"

Ford looked surprised. "That would be great. Thanks."

His father turned the page in his newspaper and Shermie decided that it wasn't even worth it.

Ford was sitting in the car when Shermie got out there. Shermie started the car and they drove in silence.

"Is this your way of saying you're sorry for me?" Ford asked suddenly.

"Sorry?"

"I know you know what happened," Ford said. "Are you trying to apologize because I lost my chance?"

It might be a little hard to believe, given that Ford's broken project had started all of this to begin with, but he had barely given that any thought. Ford losing his brother and Stanley being thrown out to fend for himself had dominated his thoughts. And that was, objectively, more important.

But now, looking at his little brother who had clearly gotten no sleep at all, Shermie felt a pang of empathy. Ford had always been smart. They had always known he was smarter than any of them. But his six fingers were so much easier to see and the kids had been so cruel. Stan had always been Ford's fiercest defender and chosen to stay with his brother, likely at the cost of his own friendships.

There was being smart and then there was being told that you were a genius who stood a good chance of being accepted at the best school in the country. A place where, how had Ford kept putting it, science fiction becomes science fact.

Just because Stan needed him more didn't mean that Ford didn't need him at all. Lines were quickly being drawn in the sand and, while he had no intention of turning his back on Stanley, that didn't mean that he couldn't try to be on Ford's side, too. There were no villains in this story, just a couple of kids making some stupid mistakes, a mother who couldn't fix it, and a father who really should have known better. And him, for whatever it was worth.

He just hoped that it would be enough.

"I am sorry, Ford," Shermie told him. "I don't know whether you would have gotten in or not but you deserved to try and now we're just never going to know."

"I keep thinking this is some sort of horrible dream," Ford confessed. "I keep thinking that I'm going to wake up and find that none of this happened. That Stan could just be happy for me instead of obsessed with that stupid treasure hunting thing. I mean, we're not twelve anymore. I never quite figured out how to tell him I wanted to go to college and have a real life but I shouldn't have had to! And he never should have done what he did."

"You can't really think he broke it on purpose," Shermie said.

"I can't?" Ford challenged. "I found his stupid bag by the machine. I knew he didn't want me to go. I asked him about it and pretty much the first thing out of his mouth was telling me we could go treasure hunting now."

Shermie winced. Stanley certainly did have a way with words. "I don't think he understood how important this school was to you."

Not that it would have made what Stan had done okay even if Ford had barely cared. But this made it worse.

Ford tensed. "It wasn't-"

"You don't need to pretend that it wasn't," Shermie interrupted. "I know. I felt the same way about my school. It was hardly West Coast Tech but all the schools I could afford were terrible and I kept getting rejected from or not getting the money I needed from the ones I wanted. By the time I finally found the right one…I know I'd have been devastated if it didn't work out."

Ford clutched at his seat belt like a lifeline. "It just didn't feel real, you know. I must have memorized every word on that pamphlet, trying to imagine myself there. I mean, I know I'm smart. Denying that would be absurd. But West Coast Tech? The smartest students in the nation? Am I really _that_ smart? I could have finally found people who understood. But I kept trying to make myself believe it and all Stan wanted to do was talk about our life goals when we were twelve and I just…"

"I know," Shermie said. "But do you really think Stan would do that to you?"

Ford shrugged. "What else am I supposed to think? He didn't deny it. He just said it was an accident. And if he didn't know how much I wanted it, why did he think he had to break it? Was he trying to save me from being forced to take this opportunity?"

"I don't know," Shermie said. "Is it really so hard to believe he didn't mean to break it? I mean, it's not like any of us really understood that thing and it looked pretty delicate."

"Maybe it was an accident," Ford conceded. "But it doesn't matter, you know?"

Shermie frowned. "No, actually, I don't know. How can it being an accident be treated the same as if Stan had deliberately sabotaged you?"

"Because if he broke it then he knew that he broke it," Ford said simply. "I told him it was broken and he wasn't surprised. It wasn't 'Oh, but I just touched it and nothing broke and everything was fine.' It was 'I was horsing around and let's go forget that college stuff and go treasure hunting.'"

"And that changes things?"

Ford nodded. "Of course it does. If he knew he broke it then he could have told me. He _should_ have told me. I don't know if I would have been able to fix it in time but I should have gotten the chance. Or I could have tried to work something out with West Coast Tech. Or at least been crossed off the list without having to stand in front of them looking like an idiot. I…They're just _so smart_ and I-I had to stand in front of them looking like I was stupid. I'm not stupid."

"I know," Shermie said helplessly. He wished he could think of something to say, some way to make this better, but he couldn't. "You will find another school."

"Yeah," Ford said, sighing. "But it won't be West Coast Tech."

Surely someone as smart as Stanford deserved the chance to at least try for a school like that on his own merits, not lose his chance entirely because of the actions of someone else. He didn't blame him for being upset.

"I do agree with you, you know."

"You do?" Ford asked surprised.

"Stan should have told you. Last night he even told me he should have told you."

"Then why didn't he?"

"He didn't want you to get mad at him," Shermie said simply. "He said it was still working when he left so I guess whatever he did didn't cause it to stop working right away."

Shermie glanced over at Ford's face then quickly looked away again. It was too raw.

"He didn't want me to get mad at him so he destroys any chance of me making this okay?" Ford let out a strangled laugh. "Fuck, Stan…"

"He wasn't right two days ago," Shermie said. Had it really only been two days? "But he was thrown out of the house, Ford."

"That…may have been going too far," Ford admitted. "I didn't think that was right. But it's not like I would have been able to change Dad's mind and I really couldn't bring myself to fight for him. Not then."

"No one's blaming you for what happened," Shermie said firmly. "That's all on Dad. But he's only seventeen."

"He'll be fine," Ford said. He sounded a bit more sure of that than he had the night before. "You said you talked to him last night. So you found him. You'll make sure he's fine."

"I will," Shermie agreed. "But Ford, I didn't find out about this until a few hours later. What if I hadn't been able to find him? What if he hadn't gone straight to that swing set you guys always used to play on."

Ford flinched. "I guess I don't need to answer that question, though, because he did and you did. I'm already driving myself crazy thinking about the what ifs of if Stan had just let well enough alone. I don't have room in me for any more."

Shermie nodded. He didn't expect his brother to be a saint and it was enough that he had confirmed that he would've worried if he hadn't known that Stan was at least not in physical danger.

"I thought I should warn you before you go in," Shermie told him.

Ford tensed. "What?"

"Stan's going to be staying with me for awhile. At least the next few months. I'm not going to kick him out so it's really however long he needs," Shermie said.

Ford nodded slowly. "It did occur to me that you might when you were so upset and yet so confident Stan would be fine."

"He's going to be in there today," Shermie warned. "I don't expect you to go hug it out but, whatever he did and however I'm helping, he was thrown out of his own house last night. Please let's try not to make this situation any worse."

Ford was looking at him in horror. "What? I can't face him right now. Not after this. I _can't_."

"I know it's going to be hard," Shermie said. "For what it's worth, I don't think he's going to be making the first move today. But this is school, Stanford. Stan has every right to be here and he needs to graduate. You know this. Maybe Stan might not be the college type but at least he needs his diploma."

"How is he going to graduate?" Ford asked him. "He hasn't done his own work without any help from me in-in _ever_ , actually. Even before he started outright copying a few years back."

"It's a little much to complain about that when you did let him," Shermie said.

"I know I did, I just don't see why you're doing this if he's not even going to be able to graduate."

"I'm not doing anything," Shermie said. "It's school. It's important. And it's going to be hard, I know, but he's going to graduate. Maybe he'll get held back or something, I don't know how bad it's going to be, but we're going to get there."

Ford was quiet for a long moment, processing this. Eventually, he said, "It is public school. We're in all the same classes but…" He took a deep breath. "I can make it work. I have to make it work."

"That's all anyone can ask," Shermie said. "I am, sorry, you know. I'm worried about Stan because of the crap Dad pulled and trying to make sure he doesn't end up homeless in ten years but I know that you didn't deserve this, either. It's not about whatever millions Dad's sulking about. You could have been really happy at that school and it's going to be harder to find another good school we can afford. Getting in shouldn't be the problem but those places do take money."

Ford managed a small mostly-genuine smile for him. "Thanks, Shermie. I know. You're right, someone does need to worry about what's going on with Stan and right now it can't be me."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I don't know," Ford said. "It sounds a little childish but I really don't. I guess I have to be, though, don't I?"

"Take all the time you need. Let me know if you need anything."

* * *

Stan walked into class and it had never felt less welcoming. He'd spent years dealing with nothing but jerks in this place but he had never dreaded being here so much.

Ford was already sitting in his usual seat at the front of the class. His backpack was on the seat next to him. Message fucking received. Not that he'd have tried to sit there anyway. He couldn't face Ford. Not after last night.

" _Are you kidding me? Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future?!"_

Ford sure had been quick to throw that idea away. Had he even wanted to go? That dream had started as a way to make Ford feel better about the fact that the other kids hated him for something stupid. He said if he didn't get in, they could go treasure hunting. He didn't but they weren't. How could Ford think he'd ever try to hurt him? It was an _accident_. But that didn't change anything, did it?

" _This was no accident, Stan; you did this! You did this because you couldn't handle me going to college on my own!"_

Is that really what he thought? He didn't want Ford to leave him, true, but he wouldn't have tried to stop him from doing what he really wanted to do. And look where that got him. Ford didn't look at him once.

And the worst part was that if he were so quick to come to that conclusion then he must have realized how Stan felt, at least a little, before and he hadn't said anything. It hadn't seemed to matter.

He was still standing in front of the room. This was bad. There were some seats in the back, he saw, so he slowly made his way back there.

"Hi," he said to the guy in the seat next to him.

"Hey."

He couldn't quite think of anything else to say so he started digging around in his bag.

Fortunately the teacher showed up then, making it literally the only time he'd ever been glad to see a teacher.

He wouldn't be able to do this. He knew he wouldn't. Shermie might believe in him and that almost hurt because no one else did and he knew he'd just be letting him down. But he had taken him in when he had nowhere else to go. If he failed it wouldn't be because he didn't try. And he couldn't count on Ford anymore so he had to try and pay attention.

They were reading _Of Mice and Men_. All Stan knew about it, because of course he hadn't read it, was that it was about farmers-for-hire in the Great Depression and there didn't seem to actually be any mice so who even knew what that was about.

The teacher eventually told them to split into pairs to discuss the ending where one guy had killed the other to stop him from being murdered by an angry mob for killing some girl.

Bummer.

Stan automatically looked at Ford before he remembered. He had never needed to actually find a partner before. It had always been him and Ford.

Always.

He forced a smile and turned to that guy from earlier. "Hey, want to be my partner?"

The guy shrugged. "Sure."

"I, uh, don't actually know your name," Stan admitted.

"Greg," Greg introduced. "You're one of the Pines twins."

Right through the heart. "Yeah. Stanley."

"So, uh," Greg flipped through his book. "I don't get why they don't get the farm and act like it was impossible. I mean, yeah, the guy's dead but the other guy had the money. I was reading it and just sitting there wondering why they're inventing problems."

"I don't know," Stan said, swallowing. Ford was working with some blond guy he didn't know. "I, uh, didn't exactly read it."

Greg laughed. "Yeah, I guess you don't have to with your brother being valedictorian."

"Oh, uh, yeah. But maybe the friend didn't feel like going and getting his dream after he just mercy-killed his friend," Stan offered.

"Yeah, maybe that guy should wait a few weeks before asking again," Greg agreed, nodding.

And just like that, it seemed to click. He hadn't read the book but other people had been talking about it and he was just about managing to fake it. When his teacher made her way to his group, she even nodded in approval at something he said.

Ford didn't talk to him in science or history or gym (though at least he got the chance to tackle someone which made him feel a little bit better). Ford was literally in all of his classes. He couldn't do it.

Ford was sitting by himself at lunch. When he was Stan staring at him, he deliberately spread his books out across the table.

Fair enough.

Instead he looked for Carla. She was laughing at a mostly full table. She was every bit as beautiful now as she was the day he first saw her. If he hadn't come back to school, he might have never seen her again.

He made his way over to her, his smile partially genuine for the first time all day. "Hey, Carla, mind if I sit here?"

Carla grinned back at him. "Oh, awesome! We never get to eat lunch together. Are you sure Ford won't mind?"

"Pretty sure," Stan replied, trying to push his brother out of his mind and sitting down.

* * *

Shermie got home with Isaac and found Stan staring morosely at his textbooks. An overpowering sense of relief hit him then. A part of him, he realized, had been expecting Stan to just disappear.

"Hey, little brother," Shermie said cheerfully, setting Isaac down in his high chair. Rachel had a long shift today so there was dinner in the crock-pot.

"Hey, Shermie."

Shermie scooped out dinner for himself and Isaac. "You eaten?"

"No. I'm not really hungry."

Shermie scooped out another bowl for his brother and placed it in front of him.

"Thanks," Stan said, despite having just claimed that he wasn't hungry.

"Talk to me."

Stan snorted. "About what?"

"You look upset," Shermie noted. "And white it could just be dad finally crossing over from bad parent to terrible parent, we could still talk about that. Or it could be something else."

Stan shook his head. "It's not that. Or…no, it is that and it's the fact that Ford didn't even look at me all day. And I can handle him being mad at me but ignoring me? That's…it's just…"

"I know," Shermie said gently. "And I'm sorry."

But still, given just how much Ford had wanted to go to West Coast Tech – more than he was even willing to admit to himself, let alone anyone else – and that it had literally been 24-hours since his dreams were crushed…Well perhaps it was for the best he was choosing to keep quiet and not say the million hurtful things he was thinking and might even mean now but wouldn't mean forever. And if he ever did say them, they would always hang between the two.

Stan took a deep breath. "But that's not it. I was actually paying attention today during class. First time in fucking forever."

Shermie wondered if, new semi-guardian figure or whatever, he should admonish his brother for swearing. It seemed a bit pedantic in the face of Stan having been kicked out, though.

He braced himself. Stan didn't look like that had gone well. "And?"

"And I think English could actually be my subject. All you have to do is make shit up and as long as you can argue about it and find a quote that you can say means you're right then you're good. History, we just started World War 2. I don't need to know anything that came before then."

Shermie was fairly certain that that wasn't true but he didn't need to panic Stan on the first day.

"Science, though? We're going to dissect a pig fetus! And like, I guess I don't mind cutting something up but then I need to find all these body parts and then we're going to have a quiz where we go around the room, see an organ, and have to label it?"

That was a lot of dismembered baby pigs. Shermie still had nightmares about the smell of formaldehyde.

"And math! Don't even get me started on math! There's all these weird letters that aren't even English and why am I supposed to know Greek or Latin or whatever? I literally sat in that class and understood nothing." He let out a watery laugh. "I can't do this, Shermie. I can't."

"You _can_ ," Shermie said fiercely, placing his hand on Stan's shoulder.

"You weren't there," Stan said stubbornly. "You don't know."

"I wasn't," Shermie agreed. "But I did manage to graduate high school myself and I believe in you."

Strangely, Stanley looked stricken at that. "Don't say that. It makes it harder to fail."

"I'm not saying it's easy to just start learning and doing the work on your own," Shermie said. "But I'm going to help you. Rachel is going to help you. We're going to get through this."

"It's going to take a million hours," Stan informed him.

Shermie pushed Stan's bowl a little closer. "Then eat. We'll start after dinner."


	3. Chapter 3

Stan would deny it, in case anyone thought to ask, but he was actually pretty nervous.

He tried to remember the last conversation he had had with his mother. Had he spoken to her after he'd gotten home from school that day? He didn't think so. Or if he had it had been something stupid and inconsequential. Had he spoken to her the morning before? He couldn't remember saying a damn word that day, just holding his breath and hoping for the best when it came to Ford's project. Fiddling with his hands and not knowing what the best was.

And now she was coming.

Everyone on the planet probably knew how his dad felt. And Shermie wasn't counting on Ford's millions and he didn't seem to care about anything related to the whole thing except that Stan wasn't left on the streets. Not that he could complain. Ford wouldn't even talk to him and it was his project in the first place.

That just left his mother. She wanted to see him. She was coming over. Shermie insisted that she was worried sick.

But he had ruined everything. They were happy, Ford was going places, and he had ruined it.

He wanted to see her and it scared him to death.

"You're going to be fine," Rachel told him encouragingly. "You know Shermie wouldn't bring her here unless he was sure that she meant it when she said she just wants to see you. She's not been spending a week crying about you just to trick us into giving her a chance to yell at you."

"I know," Stan said. "But I don't want to have to face her after what I did."

"You're going to have to see her eventually," Rachel reasoned. "Would you rather waste a few years before you do so it will get less awkward? Because, honest truth, after not speaking to someone for a while – especially if you feel you screwed up – it's only going to get more awkward once you do see them. This way you can just get all that awkwardness out of the way and hopefully by graduation it'll be back to normal with you two. You'd have moved out anyway and you won't worry about keeping in touch."

Stan nodded, absorbing her words and trying to make himself believe them. "I see what you did there."

"Hm?"

"You just casually slipped me graduating into the conversation."

"You're graduating, Stanley. You don't have to go to college if you don't want to but this is important," Rachel said firmly.

Stan rolled his eyes. "You and my brother are crazy. You both went to extra school after you didn't have to. I can't trust you when it comes to this."

"You don't have to trust us," Rachel said, sounding amused. "But you do have to graduate."

Stan just made a face. They were probably right. Getting his diploma couldn't hurt. But having to face everyone without Ford at his side, having to face Ford when he was refusing to have anything to do with him, that was tough.

There was a knock at the door before the fainter sound of the door being unlocked could be heard. That was Shermie and his mother, then. Shermie wanted to give him an extra moment's notice so he could prepare himself.

A sudden warmth flooded through him. Shermie was a good brother. They said you never knew who your real friends were until you hit rock bottom. Shermie had always been a good brother but Stan had never expected that he'd be the one who was there for him when things fell apart. He didn't think Shermie would have to be.

He schooled his expression into a polite smile as his mother came into view right behind Shermie.

"Stanley?" she asked, looking around. She saw him and her eyes widened and she dropped her purse. She ran to him.

He stood up. "Hi, Ma-"

She threw her arms around him. "Oh, Stanley, my baby!"

Shermie gave him a smug look because of course he was right before he and Rachel disappeared into the other room.

"Oh, I've been so worried about you! How have you been? What's been going on with you?" she demanded eagerly.

Stan fidgeted, looking away. "Hasn't, uh, hasn't Shermie been telling you about all of that?"

"Oh, some, sure," she agreed. "But I want to hear it from you. You have no idea how terrified I was. My whole life, I've never been as terrified as I was when your father threw you out. And when Shermie told me that he found you and took you home…it was like a miracle."

"It wasn't a miracle, Ma," Stan said softly. "It was just…" He didn't know how to finish. "I didn't know what to do. I knew that Dad wasn't…but I never thought…and I had nowhere to go. I didn't have time to make any plans and what could I have done if I did? I was just on the beach, trying to figure things out, then Shermie came and made me go with him. He said I had to keep going to school and I'm keep going to school. Ford hasn't said two words to me since it happened."

His mother pulled him tighter. "I'm so sorry, honey. You don't deserve this."

He allowed it for a moment before pulling away. She didn't let go of his grip on his wrists.

"Are you so sure of that? I mean, I did break Ford's project. I screwed everything up for him and that stupid fancy college of his."

"Alright," she said, nodding. "Why?"

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. "Wha- _why_?"

"Yes," she said. "You say that you destroyed your brother's project. Your father threw you out of the house for it and you'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere if it hadn't been for your brother-"

"I wouldn't have-"

"So I just want you to tell me why," she interrupted, raising her voice. "I can't imagine that you really wanted to hurt Ford."

"I didn't!" he swore. "Ma, please, you have to believe me! That's the last thing that I would _ever_ want!"

"Oh, baby, I know that," she said, rubbing a circle on the inside of his right wrist. "I've always known that. I've known you longer than anybody. Maybe not longer than Ford but my memory's better. It comes from being older. So tell me why."

"I just…" Stan bit his lip. It all sounded unbearably stupid now. He was such an idiot. No wonder he had gotten himself thrown out of the house. Ford would probably be better off without him.

"Stanley," she said gently. "What happened?"

"I didn't want to lose him, is all. West Coast Tech is so far away," he said wistfully.

"Oh Stan…"

He could tell that she wanted to say something comforting about how he'd never lose his brother. Except that that wasn't true, was it? He'd made it not true. He hadn't seen any options then. Now they were all he could see. It would have been hard, him living so far away. But it wouldn't have been for a few months and it couldn't be as hard as seeing him and not being able to talk to him. They could have written and called and visited. It might not have been what he wanted but it was better than nothing at all.

"I didn't mean to break it. I didn't mean to hurt him. But I made a lot of stupid decisions that night and then I ran away instead of trying to fix it. And I said all the wrong things when Ford asked me about it and then Dad and…I'm sorry, Ma. I'm so sorry."

It was getting harder to breathe for some reason. But he wasn't crying. He _wasn't_.

Another hug from his mother. Her arms weren't wrapped around him tight enough to explain why he just kept trying to breathe, faster and faster, but it didn't seem to be helping.

She kept saying all sorts of ridiculous things like "Shh, it'll be okay" and "I've got you" and he wasn't quite sure how long they stayed like that but eventually he started to feel ridiculous and pulled back.

"I'm okay, Ma," Stan said, his voice coming out all funny.

She pulled back and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm going to tell you something and I know it's not going to be easy for you to believe me but I want you to try. Can you do that for me?"

"Uh…okay," Stan said, a little confused. "What is it?"

"This wasn't your fault."

He jerked back. "What are you talking about? Of course it's my fault. I didn't mean to but I still did it. It's like if I didn't mean to run someone over; they're still dead."

"I'm not going to say that I don't wish you would have left the project alone and not even gone near it," his mother said. "You wish that, too, I'll bet. But what's done is done. There will be other colleges. Ford's so smart; we'll work something out. Maybe he'd have made millions there and won't now, I don't know. And neither does your father. Money is important but it's not as important as our son. He'll remember that eventually."

Stan sighed. "I, uh, I'm not so sure. And I don't know that I would want to see him if he did."

"Stan?"

"I mean, I know what I did but he _threw me out_. I-I don't want to face him. He had my bags packed. He was talking about how all I ever did was cheat and ride on Ford's coattails. And I-I can't say that he's all wrong about me but I don't think I can face him right now."

"I know. And you won't have to see him if you don't want to," she said. She hesitated. "But, Stanley, what about Ford?"

Stan closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk about Ford. He didn't want to think about him. It hurt too damn much. But he couldn't avoid it forever and if his mother wanted to bring it up then maybe she had some news for him. Seeing Ford every day and not talking to him wasn't exactly the same as knowing how he was doing. If his mother wanted to share some information about Ford, could he really afford to turn this down?

"What about him? He didn't throw me out. A little support would have been nice but apparently I'm dead to him now."

"He won't stay angry forever," his mother insisted.

"Maybe I'll stay angry forever."

"Oh, honey," she said, putting her hands on his face.

He opened his eyes to look at her.

"You won't. You have such a big heart. You couldn't if you wanted to."

"Maybe…" Stan trailed off, swallowed. "Maybe I can still stay angry for a little while. Maybe that would be okay."

"He will come around," his mother promised. "You're his twin brother. How can he not? And in the meantime, you're nice and safe here with Shermie and these things have a way of working themselves out."

Stan nodded, trying to believe her. When he had been thrown ouSt on his ass that night, when he was faced with nothing but his mother's confusion and his brother's silence, he hadn't known where he would end up but he certainly wouldn't have expected to wind up here.

"But…I have to ask…"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

He didn't want to know. He had to know. He tried to ask but the words stuck in his throat.

"It's okay, Stan, whatever it is. You can ask me," his mother said, smiling encouragingly at him and squeezing his hand.

"If I had broke it on purpose. If I really couldn't stand for Ford to go off and leave me all alone, would you hate me then?"

She looked like the question broke her heart.

"No. Of course not."

"Because I wouldn't!" he said quickly.

"I know, I know."

"But if I had."

She was quiet, gathering her thoughts. "Stan, you've never been a parent. You wouldn't understand."

"Dad has and he doesn't," he muttered.

"When I saw you drive off that night, when I had no idea where you were or where you were going and didn't know if I'd ever know ever again…I could never hate you. It doesn't matter what you've done. You could do a lot worse than getting rid of West Coast Tech. You are my baby boy and there is never anything in the world that could ever change that. And I am going to keep coming over here and reminding you of that for as long as I need to."

Was he trembling? Why was he trembling?

"Promise?" he asked, his voice not coming out as strong as he'd like.

"Promise."

* * *

Ford hadn't spoken to Stan in a month now.

His own brother, his own twin.

He saw him every day, except for weekends, but they hadn't said a single word to each other.

He wanted it that way. Didn't he? He hadn't said anything to Stan. He had made sure to make it clear whenever he saw Stan staring at him that he didn't want to talk to him.

Stan had stopped trying but he just _never stopped staring_.

Whenever he turned and happened to catch sight of Stan, Stan was staring at him.

It was maddening.

He hadn't spoken to Stan in a month.

His father refused to speak of Stan. No one mentioned him in front of his father.

Shermie and his mother usually didn't talk about him even though he was staying with Shermie and she was visiting frequently. But they'd made it clear that they believed what had happened to be an accident. They weren't pressuring him to forgive, just making it clear they didn't think Stan had ruined everything on purpose. Was that true? He didn't know. He wasn't sure it mattered. Stan had known enough to know there was at least a risk he had broken it and he had said nothing. The end result was the same.

It was irrational to still be angry.

Stan was no longer a part of his life. There was every chance that after he graduated he would never have to see Stanley again if he didn't want to. The thought of living the rest of his life with no contact with his brother didn't sit right with him. But it had barely been a month and he still hadn't gotten a break.

He was trying to find other schools. Trying not to compare them all to West Coast Tech because of course none of them were nearly as good. Trying to figure out how he was supposed to pay for it. Shermie had a work study program and a scholarship and he hadn't gone anywhere like the places Ford wished he could go to.

Maybe if he had gotten into West Coast Tech he wouldn't have been able to afford to go there. They had never gotten to the financial part of that discussion. Still. He would have liked to have gotten that chance.

And Stan.

He loved his brother. That's why being betrayed had been so unexpected and so painful. If it were literally anyone else in the world who had broken his project, he would be devastated but not this devastated.

All he wanted to do was push Stan out of his mind and try to forget about it but how could he when every time he turned around at school, Stan was there?

Part of him knew that that wasn't fair.

Stan had been thrown out onto the street and he didn't deserve that. He was, guiltily, glad to no longer have to be expected to share a room with someone who may very well have ruined his future. He was trying to stop what happened from ruining his future.

But Stan had Shermie. There wasn't any need to worry about him when he was fine and probably better off not having to face their father every day after what he did. He didn't know how he'd be able to stand it if Stan had been lost to the abyss, even after what had happened. But he wasn't.

It wasn't fair to have such a problem seeing Stan every day at school. It wasn't Stan's fault they were in all the same classes even though Ford was probably going to be valedictorian and he had severe doubts about Stan's ability to graduate without cheating. It was ridiculous there were no advanced programs offered at their school. Glass Shard Beach. What he wouldn't do to escape it and never, ever come back.

But Stan had a right to be at school. And he hadn't tried to approach him, even if he always looked like he wanted to.

Technically, Stan hadn't done anything wrong since the night he'd been thrown out. He just kept staring, though. Staring and longing and just being there when all Ford needed was for him to be gone. It didn't even matter where, really. Just _gone_.

So why did it still feel so goddamn _suffocating_?

He didn't know when the feeling had started; it had come on so slow.

Stan had always been a part of his life. Even now. He didn't know how to live without him. It was actually a little terrifying. By the time he was old enough to realize that not everyone had a Stanley, he was thankful that he did. Kids were cruel and nothing said 'freak' more than six fingers. He'd rather be alone with Stanley than alone by himself.

But then high school. Then he started to really think about what he wanted for himself and his future and it wasn't running around the world trying to be a _treasure hunter_ of all things. He was going places. He wasn't sure where, just yet, but he was escaping New Jersey if it killed him.

He had never said as much to Stan but he was sure he knew. He just didn't want to admit it. That was why he started getting so clingy, jumping into pictures of his awards and always yammering on about the Stan o' War.

He had never thought that Stan would hurt him. Drive him to the brink of frustration occasionally, sure, but never hurt him.

When had Stan's company started feeling less like a blessing and more like he was being…he always shied away from the word.

It wasn't all the time, anyway. It wasn't even most of the time.

But lately, more and more, it was starting to feel…

Suffocating.

And he was feeling like that all the time now, ever since he realized what Stan had done. Ever since Stan hadn't denied it.

Ever since he realized that, somewhere along the line, he had become wrong about his brother.

Stan must have cared more about himself than he did about Ford or he never would have done what he did.

And Stan hadn't _denied_ it.

And now, instead of being allowed to get some much-needed distance from Stan, he was still seeing him every single day.

It was the least contact he'd ever had with his brother and it was far too much.

How could Stan sit as far away from him as he could, always, (but always, _always_ staring) and still feel like he was suffocating him?

Ford couldn't understand it.

He didn't want to think about it.

And the worst part was that it left Ford all alone.

Alone was surely better than with someone who had betrayed him and who he could no longer trust but it was still hard.

Stanley wasn't alone. Stanley wasn't suddenly joining the football team but he was talking to people. He was spending a lot of time with Carla and her friends and some other people.

And Ford was all alone.

He was heading to his locker about an hour after school ended. He'd gotten what he needed from the library and could do the rest of his work at home.

He heard footsteps behind him.

It didn't have to mean anything. Just because school had been over for a while didn't mean that there wasn't a perfectly good reason for people to be in this hallway.

Still, he tensed and glanced behind his shoulder.

Crampelter and four of his friends.

How someone like Crampelter managed to get so many friends was beyond him. Maybe they were all afraid of him.

And he didn't have _any_. How he was supposed to look at that and think that there was nothing wrong with him? That he wasn't a freak after all. Even Stan had more friends than he did, whether he chose to remember this or not. He'd rather align himself with the friendless Ford than acknowledge that he had Carla and her friends.

"Well look what we have here," Crampelter said, smirking at him. "All alone again. I wouldn't think too much of it, with it being after school and all and everyone who isn't a complete loser being at home by now, but you two haven't been seen together for a couple of weeks now. What's wrong? Trouble in paradise?"

Ford took a deep, calming breath. "You're here, Crampelter."

"We were just waiting for you!" one of the other ones said. Ford didn't know what his name was.

"And I had reason to be here. You just wanted to find me."

"It's cute how you're avoiding the question," Crampelter said, not bothered at all. "Tell us what's going on with you and Tweedledum. We're _really_ concerned."

Ford stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" another one of them taunted.

"It's just kind of a constant, you know. The loser twins. You're a part of the neighborhood!" Crampelter exclaimed. "Everyone he goes, you go. Or, better, everywhere you go he goes. He's just the lesser version of you, after all, and that's not saying much since you're just a brainy six-fingered freak."

"We're not joined at the hip," Ford insisted, clenching his fist.

"Ah, I see I've hit a nerve," Crampelter said, his eyes lighting up with cruel delight.

He didn't need this. He didn't need to be reminded of this anymore than he already was and not be Crampelter of all people. That was another reason he wanted to escape so badly. Maybe then he could forget. Surely the bully who had tormented them for as long as they could remember wouldn't be able to follow him wherever he ended up in life.

"Finally getting sick of each other? Well, good for you. I mean, I don't know how you managed to make it seventeen years with each other. I couldn't do it. But you're also the only ones who want anything to do with each other. And it's not like you can escape yourself so why can't you put up with your other self?"

"I've seen the other one with some people," one of them said. "He even has a girlfriend. I guess there's not a bigger fuck-you Carla could say to her folks, huh?"

Crampelter tapped his chin. "Huh, he has been, hasn't he? I guess even he's managed to find someone who is willing to put up with him. That just leaves you, huh. He's the discount version of you but even he can pass for normal now and then. You're always going to be a freak and all anyone has to do is look at you to know that it's true."

Ford shut his eyes against their words. Usually Stan was here to tell him that they were wrong, even if they weren't, or to start hurling insults back. To sop up some of the abuse.

He didn't want Stan here. He didn't.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" he asked, hating how tired he sounded.

"We could," Crampelter said. "But I happen to consider it my patriotic duty to make sure freaks know their place."

Ford looked around. There was no one else around. He didn't expect that there would be.

The gang surrounded him and Crampelter took a step forward.


	4. Chapter 4

Ford was waiting for him by the Stanmobile.

He hadn't seen him yet.

Stan froze.

What else was he supposed to do?

His brother hadn't spoken to him in two months. He hadn't spoken to him, either, but that wasn't because he wanted it. Ford had made it clear that he didn't want to have anything to do with the person who had sabotaged his entire future. If that had changed at some point, he was going to have to let Stan know.

He didn't think he could handle being rejected by his own twin brother again.

But now Ford was here, outside the school, next to his car.

He couldn't move. What if it was bad?

Why would Ford be coming to talk to him if it was bad? He had heard how Ford was doing exclusively through his mother and other brother for two months now. Who even knew if Ford had heard anything about him?

He couldn't stay here forever. And while a part of him was tempted to just run away from this entire conversation, he knew he couldn't. If nothing else, his car was right there.

Ford really did know him.

"So, um, hi," he said, smiling nervously, as he approached the car.

Ford glared at him. "Hi? Is that really all you have to say to me?"

Stan unlocked his car and threw his backpack on the passenger seat, trying to center himself or whatever. "I thought it'd be a good start. I, uh, haven't seen much of you lately."

"Is that a joke?" Ford demanded.

"No?" Stan asked, hating how that came out as a question. "I mean, yeah, I've seen you at school I guess. Because we're in the same classes. But this is the first time we've actually spoken since…well, you know. That night."

"The night that you ruined my life?" Ford demanded.

Stan flinched. "I was going to say the night I got thrown out of the house but, yeah, that happened to. Listen, did you come all the way over here just to yell at me? Because, in case you forgot, _I got thrown out of the house_. I think that more than makes up for your project."

"Oh, don't give me that," Ford said dismissively. "Shermie took you in that night. Don't act like you've been living on the streets. You're even still here in school!"

"So, what, that makes what happened okay?" Stan demanded. "Dad had no idea Shermie would do that. I know I didn't. And what if he hadn't been able to find me? You think I was planning on hanging around this dump for the rest of my life?"

"What, I'm supposed to pity you because of things that might have happened but didn't?"

"No but maybe you could have done something other than turn away and spend the next two fucking months ignoring me, Stanford!"

How had this happened? Why were they fighting? He didn't want to fight. He _missed_ Ford. But the words just kept spilling out of his mouth and Ford had clearly come over here looking for an argument.

"Like what?" Ford challenged. "Never mind it's not fair to expect me to defend you after what you did, what would have happened if I insisted that Dad not do that? Do you really think he was going to listen to me? I don't recall him saying 'I'm doing this so Ford doesn't have to live with you.' It's all about his goddamn money. If I defend you it might make it worse because he'll think I don't realize what you've done and think it's even more imperative he separate us."

Stan laughed incredulously. "Oh, yes, way to frame you turning your fucking back on me as in my best interest!"

"I didn't say that!"

"Oh, no?"

"Well, that wasn't why," Ford amended. "Though you have to admit that I'm right."

"I don't have to admit shit. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything but I'd have liked to know that my own twin brother had some sort of problem with me being left out in the cold like that!" Stan shouted. "And don't you even dare tell me Shermie went and got me. You didn't expect that either. What did you think was going to happen to me when he told me to go?"

Ford looked away. "I-I suppose I didn't think about that part."

"Of course not," Stan said contemptuously. "It was all about you and your stupid project."

"Don't you dare act like you're the victim here!"

"How am I not the victim? I was thrown out of my own house with nothing but my car and a duffle bag – a pre-packed duffle bag! – because of one mistake."

"A mistake?" Ford repeated. "Stan, a mistake would be you dropping my project when you helped me carry it into the gym. You deliberately sabotaged me."

"You still believe that?" Stan demanded.

"Why wouldn't I?" Ford asked. "Nothing's changed."

"Everything you've ever known about me and you really think I would do that?" Stan asked, hurt. He tried to tell himself that it didn't matter but it did.

Ford was quiet for a long moment before slowly nodding.

"How could you even think that?"

"I didn't want to," Ford admitted. "I tried not to. That whole walk home I just kept telling myself that there had to be some other explanation. It had to be a coincidence that that bag was there. It wasn't yours. Or you left it there when you weren't sabotaging my project. I even tried to tell myself that it was an accident."

"It was an accident!"

"Then why didn't you tell me about it?" Ford demanded. "It wasn't the kind of accident where you shut the door and don't realize the picture fell off the wall. I asked why your bag was by my broken project and you knew _exactly_ what happened."

"I…"

What could he say? Ford was right. He should have told him. He knew he should have then. But he thought everything was going to be alright and why tell someone about a mistake you almost made but didn't? He knew how Ford would react.

"If it was broken I should have gotten the chance to fix it! I should have gotten the chance to tell the West Coast Tech people so I didn't make an ass of myself in front of them! If it was an accident, why the fuck wouldn't you have told me? Unless you _wanted_ me to fail which you're implying you didn't."

"Of course I didn't! Look, I should have told you. I know I messed up. But I swear, it was only damaged a little. It was still running. I put the little grate thing back on. I thought it was okay! And yeah, I know, I still should have told you. But I just…I was scared," he admitted.

"Scared," Ford repeated, unimpressed. "And you say you didn't want me to fail? Don't pretend you wanted me to leave you and go there."

"Of course I didn't! But that's not the same as wanting you to fail. I wouldn't do that. And better losing you to the other side of the country than losing you a few blocks down the street." Suddenly Stan felt very tired. "Why did you even come here, Ford? You didn't get the chance to yell at me enough when Dad threw me out? I know that I fucked up. It was an accident but I still did it. And I'm sorry. And I wish I could get your school back for you but I can't. Why now? Why today? You don't seem like you want to do anything, what's the word, constructive."

"It's easy to stick to the 'it was an accident' story now," Ford said. "Never mind you were behaving like a guilty man."

"I don't know what I was 'behaving' like, just what happened," Stan protested. "You know I don't always think things through."

Ford's mouth twisted wryly. "Yes. I do."

"Either believe me or don't. What happened happened and I can't change it."

"I need you to stop," Ford told him.

"Stop? Stop what?" Stan asked. "Stop defending myself? Then stop accusing me. This is my car and I'm getting in it and driving back to Shermie's when this is done. I'm not the one who leaves when this conversation is done."

"Just stop…" Ford looked like he was struggling to find the right word, which was a rare sight indeed. "Stop everything."

Stan frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about right now."

"Stop staring at me. Stop looking sad when I don't acknowledge you! Stop always being there!"

"Wha-I'm _not_ always there. I haven't been home in two months!" Stan insisted. "The only time you see me is at school. And, what, was getting me kicked out of my home not enough for you?"

"I told you, I had nothing to do with that and you know it."

"Yeah, well you sure didn't care, didn't you? Do you want me to be kicked out of school, too?"

"Yes-no-I don't know! It's not like you're even going to graduate! Why are you still here?"

Thing was, Stan had asked himself that question on a near-daily basis since that first, horrifying day in class where he realized he had no idea what was going on. Rachel and Shermie had been working with him and he may have been scraping by with Cs but that was more than he had thought to get. In English he had even gotten a B+ once. He was good at making shit up. But it still didn't feel real. He still didn't think he could graduate on his own merit.

But Ford didn't get to say that to him.

"I'm here because I have just as much right to be here as you. I _am_ going to graduate. And how am I possibly bothering you? I can't help it that I hate that you're ignoring me! I'm respecting it, aren't I? I'm not trying to make you do nothing. And as for looking at you? I'm sure I don't do it that much." Did he? He didn't know. "But how would you even know if you weren't looking at me?"

"We needed time apart. We needed it even before you _ruined my entire future_."

The words stung. He saw being separated as an unwanted consequence, not the fucking goal. "There will be other colleges."

"Yeah and they won't be West Coast Tech. I could become a millionaire and I will never know how much better my life would have been if you hadn't ruined it."

"You don't even know if you would have gotten in." The words were out before he could think about it.

Ford froze. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I mean, technically you don't-"

"So that makes it okay? I might have failed anyway so what does it matter you failed for me? If you didn't think I could have gotten in what reason would you have to sabotage my project?"

"I already told you, I didn't-" Stan started to protest.

"Yeah, yeah, it was an accident. Save it. We needed time apart before and we need it even more now!"

"What do you mean, we needed time apart?" Stan asked, confused. "I know I didn't."

Ford sighed. "Of course not. I don't know how you never felt it but I've been feeling it for a while."

"Feeling what?"

"Like I can't be my own person with you around. Like I'm not just Ford, I'm Stan-and-Ford. Like everyone looks at you and sees me and looks at me and sees you. Like I don't know how to exist without you and I can't live with you in my pocket the rest of my life. I need to figure out who I am without you. And now it seems I can't even trust you. Accident or not, you fucked that right up afterwards and if that's not betrayal then I don't know what is."

Stan was completely floored. How long had Ford been feeling that way? He had never felt anything close to that. Did that just make him the annoying twin, the one Ford wanted to run away to the other side of the country to get away from? He wasn't brave enough to ask.

"When have I _ever-_ "

"Oh, it's not anything you did, not really," Ford interrupted. "Not before the science fair. It's just who you are and who I am and maybe it's just a part of being a twin. I don't know. But I needed space before and now I can't even look at you without remembering everything you've cost me. I thought, when Dad kicked you out, that at least this way I'd get some space. Instead you show up every day at school like nothing happened and I don't know what to do because you have a right to be here and you're not even talking to me but you're still suffocating me!"

Stan froze. "I'm…suffocating you?"

Ford looked uncomfortable. "Yes."

"I haven't gone anywhere near you in two months."

"I'm aware of that."

"What you're objecting to is essentially me just living, me breathing the same air as you, me trying to get my diploma so I don't have to share a room with Isaac for the rest of my life," Stan said slowly.

"It's not…rational, I know," Ford said awkwardly. "But you're always there. You can't help what you feel. And I feel like I'm never going to escape you."

He didn't know what to say to that. He didn't know what to feel about this. He just knew that he couldn't stand to be there for a single second longer.

"Some brother you turned out to be. All I wanted to do was spend time with you, the only one who _ever_ wanted to spend time with you, and I'm suffocating. You'd rather I be living on the streets than quietly sitting at the back of the class."

Ford winced. "Wait, that's not what I-"

"Well, you know what? You're in luck. You get to escape me for the rest of the day. In fact, isn't today Friday? You won't have to see me again until Monday and you never even have to speak to me ever again. Another few months and you'll never even have to see me again. How's that for suffocating?"

He climbed into his car, trying to ignore the fact that his legs were shaking, and drove off.

* * *

Shermie knew that there was a problem when he returned with Isaac that night to find Rachel alone in the kitchen.

Usually after school, even on a Friday, Stan worked on homework at least until dinner was over and he did so in the kitchen so that one of them could help him.

"Where's my brother?" he asked her.

"In the bedroom," Rachel replied. "Shermie, I think he had a fight today."

"A fight?" Shermie asked, alarmed. That didn't sound good. He knew that Stan got into some scrapes sometimes but he hadn't ever since coming to live with them. Maybe getting into a fight was his way of proving that he was back to normal? "Do you know what happened?"

Rachel shook her head. "Not really. And I don't mean a fistfight or anything. He just came home looking like he had just gotten back from a funeral and wouldn't talk about it. I figured I'd leave you to try and figure it out."

He made a face. "Thanks, dear."

She held up her hands. "Hey, you are his brother. You know him better than I do and I'm still kind of tiptoeing around what happened because I don't trust myself not to call your father an asshole several times during the course of the conversation."

"Stan may not mind that," Shermie said.

"True but it really should be you having this conversation," Rachel insisted. "You strike out and I'll try my luck at it but for now give me the baby and go talk to your brother."

"Yes, ma'am," Shermie said, handing his son off to her.

He spent a few minutes putting his things away and trying to compose himself for what could be a very tricky conversation before he knocked on the door of the room.

For a moment there was no answer.

"Come in," Stan said quietly, sounding like he'd much prefer that whoever it was not come in at all.

Shermie went in anyway. "Hi, Stan."

Stan was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His pillow was clenched in his arms. He sat up and looked at Shermie. "Hi."

"So, uh, Rachel told me that you might have ha-"

"I talked to Ford today and it didn't go well," Stan interrupted. Well, that was easier than he had expected. "We kind of got into a fight. It was awful."

"And was this the first time you've spoken to him since, well…?" Shermie asked. He was pretty sure Stan would have told him if he and Ford had spoken before but he didn't want to make assumptions.

Stan nodded. "I've been trying to stay out of his way since it was pretty clear he didn't want to talk to me and, you know, I kind of ruined his life."

"You didn't ruin his life," Shermie said immediately. "You know you didn't."

Stan shrugged. "Yeah, well, that's not how he sees it."

"He just lost a really great opportunity," Shermie said. "And he's seventeen. He's not exactly going to have a clear view of these things."

"I'm seventeen," Stan pointed out.

"Yeah, I know," Shermie agreed. "Look, Ford will figure it out. But that's not something you need to worry about."

"Could you worry about it maybe?" Stan asked. "I mean, I want to help but I know he won't let me. And I don't know very much about his whole college thing."

Shermie considered it. He would have gladly given Ford any advice if he'd asked, which he hadn't, but while he didn't consider himself an expert either he had been through the process. "Okay. I'm not sure he needs my help but I'll make sure to offer it just in case."

"Thanks," Stan said. "I mean, if he ends up at a crummy school instead of West Coast Tech I'm going to feel even worse about this whole thing."

"What happened?" Shermie asked.

Stan shrugged. "I don't know. He was waiting by my car and then he was yelling at me about his project and that was two months ago."

"You're both still thinking about it," Shermie pointed out. "You being here and not speaking with him is because of that. And the fact that this is your first conversation since then…yeah, it's probably for the best you got that out of the way."

Stan laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I'm not so sure about that. But I least I finally got the chance to explain about how it was an accident even if he didn't believe me."

"Well, maybe he'll think about it and realize you're right," Shermie said. "Or maybe he'll forgive you either way."

"Yeah, maybe," Stan said glumly. "Then he started complaining about how seeing me around was all suffocating and stuff."

"What?" Shermie asked, surprised. "You haven't been talking to him, though, right? How could you just going to school be suffocating?"

Stan shrugged. "I don't know. It wasn't making a lot of sense. He was just talking about how he wanted a break from me but I'm in all his classes and it sounded like he wished I wasn't even at school at all."

"It might be easier," Shermie conceded. "But that's not his choice. If he wants you to leave him alone, you really should leave him alone. And that's what you are doing. But if he has to put up with having you in a few classes then he has to put up with having you in a few classes. That's a part of growing up, you know. Learning how to deal with people that you'd rather not have to deal with."

"Like stupid twin brothers who are only good for wrecking stuff," Stan muttered.

Shermie gave him a look. "Stanley. You know that's not true."

"He doesn't think I can graduate."

Shermie could have kicked him. While it was true that they all had had some sort of concern about Stan and school and Ford would probably know the situation best, having had Stan copy everything off of him for years, that didn't mean he had to go right out and say it! And Stan was perfectly capable of graduating. His brother wasn't stupid. He didn't care about any of the school subjects and he would never have Ford's brilliance (he had never met anyone with Ford's brilliance. Hard enough being a genius' big brother. He didn't envy Stan being his twin) but he wasn't stupid. And Shermie had seen some truly stupid people graduate with him. He was pretty sure a few of them had never gotten a grade higher than a D+.

And Stan was working so hard! Harder than he had expected, actually, given his refusal to do the work himself for at least five or six years now. But now he had something to prove. Now he had people he didn't want to disappoint and now he didn't have access to Ford's near-perfect work. And what did Ford know about any of that? Nothing because he didn't care to know. And that was his right but he didn't get to refuse to keep up with Stanley's life and then disparage him like that.

It occurred to him that he really should get more details. It would do to be annoyed with Ford if Stan were only projecting onto him, after all.

"What did he say?"

Stan shrugged. "He said he doesn't think I can graduate. But he's wrong. I may not get those whatever those are at graduation that says you're a nerd but I'm going to graduate. Dad doesn't think I can do it. Ford doesn't think I can do it. Mom…well, she's hopeful. Only you and Rachel really believe in me and I'm not going to prove them right. I'm going to graduate and then I'm going to make a million bucks and then the joke will be on them!"

"It sounds like your talk with him was rough on you," Shermie noted. "I'm sorry for that."

"But not surprised."

"After two months of radio silence and what happened that night? No, I'm not surprised." Shermie sighed. "Disappointed in the whole situation, perhaps, but not surprised. Did you get anything out of your talk?"

"You mean Ford's random and unprovoked attack against me?" Stan asked rhetorically. But there was something in his voice. Something he wasn't telling him. "I don't know. I don't think so. Although…"

"Yes?"

Stan shrugged again. "It just might be a good thing, is all. I don't like that apparently he is having problems dealing with the fact that I'm in the same building as him but he actually came up to me and talked to me. That should…I don't know if he's going to do it again but if he does it should be easier. I kind of got the idea that he only came up and talked to me this time because he couldn't take it anymore."

"Not that he'll have much of a choice," Shermie said. "Graduation is still a few months away."

"Yeah," Stan said, looking sad. "I told him he'd never have to see me again after that."

"That's true," Shermie agreed cautiously. "Except for family events that I expect you both to be at and just suck up whatever issues you have. Like when Rachel and I have another kid or something like that."

"That's true, I guess," Stan agreed. "But don't expect me to do Thanksgiving."

Shermie snorted. "Yeah, no worries there."

"I just miss him, you know?" Stan asked rhetorically. "I don't really miss Dad and I see Mom often enough. Not as often as Ford but at least she'll talk to me. I miss Ford and it's hard to see him every day and just have no interaction but it'll be harder when he goes away and I never see him again. Except for all the stuff you make us both go to, of course."

"Do you really think it'll come to that?" Shermie asked.

Stan clenched his fists. "I'm not going to force myself on my brother. If he thinks I'm so freaking suffocating then fine. So be it."

"That's the kind of thinking that leads to you two literally never speaking again," Shermie cautioned. "Don't make this a pride thing."

"It's not a pride thing. It's a common decency thing," Stan claimed. "I won't go where I'm not wanted."

Shermie wondered, briefly, just what he had done to wind up in the middle of such a melodrama. He was a good person. He tried to do good things. He didn't deserve this.

Of course, neither did they was the problem even if they were the ones causing this mess.

"Just…be careful," Shermie entreated. "There's still time. It's only been two months."

"It's only been a day. It's only been two months. It's only been ten fucking years," Stan said, crossing his arms sullenly. "You'll keep saying that until one of us is dead."

"No, if it goes on longer than five years I'm abducting you both and locking you in a room until you get over your issues," Shermie corrected

Stan gave him a suspicious look. "Should I be worried?"

"You've got time. I know this is hard, but I really do think more time is the solution. Once he's got the college thing sorted out and is going to go to a place that he's happy with, the fact he won't be going to West Coast Tech will be less of an issue."

"But that's just it," Stan said. "No matter how great whatever school he goes to is, West Coast Tech will always be the one that got away. It's like women. You always remember the one you can't have."

Shermie gave him a look. "Stan, you have literally only been in one serious relationship and that's still going strong last time I checked."

"So? I can know things," Stan claimed. "Every problem his school has, he'll think that West Coast Tech wouldn't be like that. The dining hall isn't open as long as he wants it to be. The library doesn't have a big enough selection on whatever it is he's interested in. The sports team is terrible. He'll think 'if I were at West Coast Tech I wouldn't have to deal with this.'"

"Well, maybe," Shermie conceded because he could see very easily how that could be the case. "But you know that he can't be mad at you forever."

"Even if he isn't, if he stayed mad for twenty years it might just kill me," Stan said.

"It would not," Shermie said, going over to the bed and sitting down next to his brother. "You have me and Rachel and Isaac and all of your future children and Ma and Carla and…I don't actually know the names of your other friends but you have them, too."

Stan laughed. "Yeah, okay." Then, quieter, "You don't know that he won't hate me forever."

"He doesn't hate you."

"Fine, be angry with then."

"It's just highly unlikely. People don't stay angry with people forever," Shermie said.

"Some do," Stan said. "And, sure, like, I haven't killed anyone but it could still happen. What if Ford never gets over it?"

"I told you. Lock you both in a room," Shermie said.

"And what if that's not enough? What am I ever going to do without him?"

Shermie didn't know what to say. It was a stupid, awful situation and he hated it. And he wished he didn't understand so well why they insisted on hurting each other. He wished that he could _fix_ it. But he couldn't. The only ones who could were them. Stanley, at least, was willing even if he didn't know how. He was willing to bet that Ford didn't, either.

No, he couldn't fix this and neither could their mother. All he could do was give Stan a place to stay while he was still growing up and be there for both of them and to try and give them whatever they needed to figure it out for themselves.

"I guess…" he said finally. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see. And in the meantime, you learn to live without him."

"I don't want to live without him," Stan said softly.

Shermie wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulder. "I know, Stanley. I know."


	5. Chapter 5

Saturday morning, Shermie headed to his parents' house right after breakfast.

"Oh, Shermie, what a surprise!" his mother exclaimed. She was looking happier these days but still not as happy as she'd been before her husband had just decided to throw away one of her children. "Come, sit, have breakfast!"

He smiled at that. Some things would never change. "Thanks but I already ate."

"Well stay for lunch then," she replied.

"If I'm still here in a few hours then absolutely," he agreed.

"I'm going to make all of your favorites."

He laughed. "Isn't that a bit manipulative?"

"I do what it takes to get this family to sit down for a meal," she said unapologetically.

"You never cook any of my favorites," his father complained.

"Well when your favorites stop be disgusting we can talk," she replied.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it then," he said. "Where's Ford?"

"Up in his room," his father said, jerking his head towards the stairs. "We didn't see him at all last night. He takes his studies seriously." 'Unlike Stanley' went unsaid but he could almost hear it just the same.

"He always did," Shermie said simply before excusing himself to go find his brother.

He knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Ford asked, sounding distracted.

Shermie opened the door and saw Ford working diligently at his desk. He hadn't been in this room since Stan had been kicked out. All of Stan's stuff was gone but, somehow, it had gotten even messier. He hadn't been aware that Ford even owned that many books and a part of him wanted to go buy a filing cabinet to stuff all those loose papers into.

He took a seat on the bed. "So. Ford."

"Shermie," Ford greeted, setting his books aside and turning his seat around to face him. "You're here because of yesterday."

"You don't know that."

Ford gave him an unimpressed look.

"Okay, fine, I'm here because of yesterday," he admitted.

"I didn't tell Mom or Dad what happened," Ford said. "But I should have known you'd hear about it. What did Stan say about it anyway? That I lost my damn mind?"

That was, more or less, Stanley's take on the situation.

"He's just confused," Shermie said instead. "I know you two haven't spoken in two months then yesterday you were waiting for him and you wanted to fight about your project and how hard it was to see him at school."

"And you're here for an explanation," Ford said flatly. It wasn't a question.

"Well, if you want to give me one then I won't turn it down," Shermie said. "But I'm not here to just go report back to Stan what you said."

"You're not?" Ford asked skeptically.

" _No_ , Ford. I'm here because my little brother came home yesterday and he was really upset because you two had a fight and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that maybe my other little brother might be upset, too."

"I'm not upset. I'm fine."

Shermie might have even believed him if it hadn't been for the way he had tensed up when saying that.

"Uh-huh. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Why? It was pretty much what he said. We haven't spoken, I went up to him, and we had a fight."

"Yeah because I'm sure you'd describe it as you randomly coming up to him and wanting to talk about that," Shermie said.

Ford shrugged. "That's just his take on it. You're never going to get objectivity about something from anyone, even people not involved. You know the basic details and what does the rest of it matter?"

Shermie was quiet for a moment, trying to put his thoughts in order. He was studying his brother who looked back at him unflinchingly.

"You keep looking at me like I'm, I don't know, on Stan's side or something," he said finally.

"It's pretty obvious that you are," Ford told him.

"I'm not…I'm not not on his side," Shermie said. "If you'll forgive the double negative. He's my brother and of course I'm on his side. But you're my brother, too, and I'm also on your side."

Ford rolled his eyes. "You can't be on both of our sides, Shermie. We're not on the same side. Who do you think you are, Mom?"

"There are worse members of this family to be like. I think you'll find that these things are rarely that simple, especially with families," Shermie said seriously. "And what makes you so sure I'm not on your side then?"

Ford stared at him. "Are you kidding me? Shermie, he's living in your house. I see you pretty much every day when you drop Isaac off and pick him up but you spend far more time with him than with me."

Realization struck. "And are you feeling neglected?"

Ford scowled. "No."

Yes.

"Well, let's put that aside for a moment," Shermie said. "I hate this whole situation, you know?"

Ford snorted. "Who doesn't?"

"Dad, probably, since he's the one who caused this situation in the first place and is the only one with a hope of fixing it," Shermie said. "Even if that wouldn't be as easy as all of that. But I just hate it and I don't know how to fix it."

"You can't," Ford said. "It can't be fixed."

"Now, I know that's not true," Shermie said.

"He betrayed me, Shermie. Why is that supposed to be so easy to get past? Why do I have to get past it at all?"

"You feel he betrayed you," Shermie argued.

"Yeah. I do."

"Why is it so much easier to believe that Stan wrecked your project on purpose?" Shermie asked. "You know he wrecked it. He says it was an accident. Before any of this happened, which would you say was more likely?"

Ford sighed. "That's just it. Accident or not, he knew he broke it. Or at least he knew he bumped it or whatever and part of it fell off meaning there was at least some damage to the project. If it were such an accident, why didn't he tell me?"

The thing was, Shermie could see Ford's point. If you don't mean to break something then why wouldn't you try and get it fixed? And Stan could have just regretted it the moment he did it and regretted even more the consequences of it. He couldn't ever know what really happened.

But he believed in his brother.

He had to.

"Because seventeen-year-olds make stupid decisions sometimes," Shermie said bluntly.

"That doesn't work when I'm seventeen, too," Ford argued.

"You say that but I remember that time Stan wanted to tattoo his face to his arm," Shermie said.

Ford couldn't help but laugh at that. "I probably shouldn't have been egging him on."

"No you shouldn't have. A bad choice on your part," Shermie said. "As was the time you decided to stay up all night studying for finals and Stan had to wake you up twice during the exam. And let's not even get into what you said to that girl at the school dance."

Ford made a face. "Yeah, let's not."

"I mean, it's no alienating West Coast Tech but you literally went up to a girl and told her that you were searching for treasure and could you look around her chest," Shermie said, trying not to laugh at the memory. He had been so embarrassed on his brother's behalf when he'd heard that he almost hadn't been able to stand it.

"I got that line from Stan," Ford defended. "And those kinds of things seem to work for him! Carla McCorkle thinks it's funny."

"Well I'm glad sleazy pick-up lines work for Stan and he's found a girl who appreciates them," Shermie said. "But was it a stupid decision on your part? She literally threw a drink on you."

"Yeah, it was pretty stupid," Ford admitted. "I don't know."

"No one's saying you have to forgive him, you know. I mean, at some point in the next ten years that would be nice but it's still pretty recent. You're still coping with the fallout."

"I'll _always_ be dealing with the fallout," Ford insisted. "And you've got a funny way of showing it. You're like the president of the Reunite Stan and Ford Club."

"I won't pretend I wouldn't like it," Shermie admitted. "I told you, I hate this situation and it's easy for me to say that I want you two to make up because I wasn't affected by what Stan did. But only if you want to fix it."

"Which you're trying to persuade me to do."

Shermie sighed. "Not intentionally. I think maybe talking to Stan was a good idea."

Ford rolled his eyes. "I'm not surprised that _you_ think so. Maybe a little surprised that you think so after what happened but knowing you you'll be able to twist it into something positive."

"Something positive like…it opened the doors of communication and now it's all out there?"

Ford narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. Exactly like that."

"It's just…Dad didn't even let you two have it out before he threw Stan out, right? And that was the last you talked to him before yesterday. You needed a chance to be mad at him and yell at him for what happened and Stan needed a chance to try and explain himself. Maybe you guys just ended up yelling at each other but at least it gave you both something to think about, right?"

"You have the most unnervingly optimistic way of looking at things," Ford informed him.

Shermie laughed. "I do try. And one of us has to not catastrophize everything."

"What about the rest of it?" Ford asked.

"The rest of it?" Shermie repeated. "What, about you feeling like Stan's been suffocating you?"

"I know…I know it's not his fault, exactly," Ford said haltingly.

"I should say so. He has been leaving you alone."

"But he's just…always _there_ , you know? I need to not see him if I'm going to try and put this past me. Every time I see him, it all comes back to me."

"I get it," Shermie said. "I do. It's hard to move on when what you're trying to move on from is staring you right in the face. But Ford…"

"What?"

"You know that Stan can't help that any more than you can and it's not easy for him to see you so clearly rejecting his presence every day. And it's only for a few months. You can do it."

"I know," Ford said, sighing deeply. "I may not be able to do it without exploding at him again and leaving him wondering what's wrong with me since he's been staying away from me but I can do it."

"The only thing I'm really worried about is what comes next?" Shermie asked. "What happens after you graduate? What are you really trying to move on _from_ , what Stan did or Stan himself?"

There was a guilty silence.

"Look, you need space. I get that. Stan did screw you over pretty badly and he handled that situation all wrong even if I do believe that ultimately it was an accident. But he's still your brother and he still loves you. Just…try to keep that in mind, okay? You don't want to be brilliant and established and have, I don't know, ten PhDs and just not have your own twin brother in your life because a million years ago he broke a project that didn't end up ruining your life after all."

Ford looked conflicted. "You're right. I know you're right. I just…I can't even think about trying to get back in touch with him or stay in touch with him right now. I just need more time."

"Take all the time you want. It's okay," Shermie said. "Just try and make sure it's not something you just let slide and then you realize just how long it's been since you two were talking."

"I'll try," Ford promised.

"In the meantime, why don't you tell me about your college search," Shermie said. "You must have had some sort of plan before you heard about West Coast Tech and you've had some time to move on since then."

Ford leaned forward. "Well, I've been looking at a couple places. None in New Jersey which, I know, that makes it more expensive but if I don't escape this state it will kill me."

Shermie chuckled. "I know the feeling."

"Says the man who moved down the street," Ford said, rolling his eyes.

"But I didn't go to school here," Shermie pointed out. "It's good to get out for a while. And Rachel and I aren't planning on staying here forever but for now it's nice to be around family. Not to mention the free childcare and low rent. Rachel works at the same hospital her dad does. Never say nepotism doesn't get you places."

"Well, Backupsmore offered me a free ride," Ford said.

Of course they did. Backupsmore would give quite a bit to get someone like Ford at their school. 'Mostly bug-free dorms' indeed.

"You applied to Backupsmore?"

Stan was right to suggest he get involved.

Ford looked embarrassed. "Well, I, uh, was not really in the best place after being rejected by West Coast Tech like that. I wanted to make sure I could get in _somewhere_."

"There will _always_ be somewhere that will take you. But…Backupsmore."

"It would be free," Ford argued half-heartedly.

"Let's leave that on the table," Shermie said. "Just in case. In the meantime, let's take a look at some of your other options. I really think your biggest hurdle will be the financial as opposed to anything else. You got West Coast Tech to come look at you! Even if it didn't work out, that's more than most people get."

* * *

His father's voice interrupted him on his way out, several hours later. His mother was nowhere in sight but she'd been happy they'd had a nice lunch together earlier.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Shermie."

Shermie stopped and clenched his eyes closed for a second before turning around to face his father.

He had the newspaper down on his lap and he was staring at him.

"Do you really want to have this conversation, Dad?"

"Would I have started it if I didn't?" his father replied.

"No, I guess not," Shermie said, as evenly as he was able. "Alright, Dad, tell me why _you're_ disappointed in _me_."

"I threw Stanley out for a reason," his father said gruffly. "And now I hear that he's living with you, continuing to drag this family down?"

"Yeah, I know you threw him out for a reason," Shermie countered, his fingernails digging into his palms. "You think he cost Ford millions of dollars."

"I know that he did! And It's not just Ford. He cost _all_ of us that money."

'He cost me that money' he might as well have said.

"And just how do you suppose that is, Dad?" Shermie demanded. "When were you going to see a dime of money? Was Stanford supposed to pay you for the privilege of being raised by you? I mean, I'm sure he'd have gotten you out of New Jersey or something but don't act like he took anything away from you."

"Ford could have been a millionaire. That principal guy said it. And what does Ford care about money? He'd be happy just being with his nerd books all the time!"

That much was true. Ford had always been so vague when it came to money.

"There will be other schools. Ford's brilliant. If he wants to be a millionaire, he'll make it happen."

Personally, Shermie had his doubts that Ford did want that and that it would have happened even if Ford got into the school he wanted. Real money was in inventing things, patenting them. Solving problems plaguing the populace. All Ford wanted to do was answer questions for the sake of answering questions. And sure, if it was the right question at the right time he could make a fortune. But would he even care enough to make sure he would? It was far from certain.

"I get you're pissed at Stan. And, in your own warped little way, maybe being angrier than Ford is makes sense," Shermie said. "But throwing him out onto the street? He's a child!"

"He's seventeen," his father said dismissively. "I dropped out of school when I was fourteen and I did alright. Kid should toughen up, learn to make it on his own."

"That was during the Great Depression!" Shermie exclaimed. "You can't hold him to those same standards! Look, I'm pretty sure what you did wasn't actually legal and even if it was it was terrible. You're disappointed in me? You don't even want to know what I'm feeling right now."

"You're being irrational," his father claimed. "You always were too much like your mother. Her coddling ruined the boy."

"And he might be dead right now for all you care."

His father crossed his arms. "I never meant for Stan to die. I just think that he's probably a lost cause and if he ever wants to have any hope of turning his life around he needs to sink or swim."

"He would sink, Dad. He was not prepared for that. And he said his bag was packed. How long were you planning on kicking him out anyway?"

"He's been a drain on this family's resources for years now."

Shermie shook his head in disbelief. "What, exactly, do you think children are? I know I was an accident but you could have learned from that. You wanted another baby. It's not Stan's fault – or Ford's for that matter – than you didn't want two. But fine, you say Stan was such a burden. He's gone now. He's not your responsibility. Tell me how it's any of your business what I do with my own brother in my own house?"

"He's just going to drag you down, too," his father warned.

"I would like to know how, I really would. He's cheaper than the baby is. He helps out around the house and doesn't interfere with my or Rachel working. He's even doing his own schoolwork again since Ford's more than done helping him," Shermie said heatedly. "You think I'd be better off without him in my life? Noted. But I don't care."

"You still look at him and see that baby who smiled when we let you hold him, that toddler who used to follow you around everywhere, that kid who thought you hung the moon," his father accused. "And yeah, I'll admit it. He was a pretty cute kid. Not too bright but nothing wrong with that. You don't see the worthless man he's become."

"He's not a man," Shermie said. "He's still seventeen. And he was abandoned by the man who was supposed to take care of him. How's he even worthless, anyway? He didn't do his own schoolwork? He made one mistake?"

"One mistake is all it takes," his father said. "That's how I ended up here, you know. Kids, they ruin your life."

Shermie laughed harshly. "And the thing is, you keep ragging on Stan but you don't even realize how truly fucked up it is that you always say that. To your mistake."

"At least you were worth something in the end," his father grumbled. "Accountant. Married to a nurse. And a grandson, too. You could have done worse."

Shermie shook his head, trying to curb his frustration. His father was never going to get it.

"What makes you think Stan's at the end?" he challenged. "He's not even done with high school. And now that he doesn't have to live under a bridge or in his car or something, I think he stands a pretty good chance."

"You're making a mistake," his father said. He sighed. "Look, Shermie, I know you're sentimental. You take too much after your mother. I'm sentimental, too. That's why it took so long for me to send Stan packing. I knew for years it would come to this. And that was my mistake. Maybe if I'd stuck to my guns we'd still have West Coast Tech. Don't make the same mistake I did."

"Don't worry," Shermie said coolly. "I won't." He headed for the door.

"Shermie. You know I'm just trying to look out for you. Stanley's done enough to hurt this family."

"I know you're trying," Shermie acknowledged. "I know you think I'm making a mistake. But it's mine to make. And you know what the worst thing is?"

"What?" his father asked impassively.

"You are never, ever going to think that you were wrong. Either Stan crashes and burns because of this in which case you were right about him or else he somehow manages to put his life back together and make something of himself and you'll credit your 'tough love' approach."

He let the door slam behind him.

* * *

Shermie took the long way home. The very long way home that involved driving in the opposite direction for an hour first, trying to calm down.

The worst of it was that his father was genuinely not trying to be malicious. He almost never was. He was just blunt and tactless to the point of cruelty and was genuinely a terrible parent who thought his kids owed him something for existing.

He was never going to tell Stan any of this, that much was certain.

Was their father having these conversations with Ford? Was that helping feed Ford's resentment? Ford wasn't the type to be handed his opinions but he knew enough to know that the environment you were in affected you and the way you thought.

It was one thing to not want Stan in the house. A terrible, stupid, cruel thing but it was one thing. Trying to convince Shermie to kick him out?

Shermie pulled in at the same time Stan did.

Stan looked happy. That was all that mattered.

"Okay, who's ready for an awkward annoying grown-up conversation neither of us really wants to have?" Shermie asked once they were both inside.

"I mean, you did say that neither of us wanted to have it," Stan said. "But I will if, you know, you'll tell me how it went with Ford today."

"Hm? What do you mean?"

Stan rolled his eyes. "I'm not an idiot, Shermie. I know you. You went over there today to see how he was doing after yesterday."

"Well, fine, I did. He's insisting he's not upset and he knows he's being irrational about the whole seeing you thing. He's trying to deal with the fact he has to see you for several hours most of the week and I'm hoping this fight will have been good for you."

Stan sighed. "Your optimism is like a unicorn."

Shermie laughed. "That's the kind of shit people say when they're high. I mean, um, I've never done anything like that."

"Whatever you say, Shermie," Stan replied. "So. Awkward annoying grown-up conversation?"

"Right," Shermie said, nodding. "I told you you didn't have to attend college."

"Which is good because I'm definitely not attending college," Stan said. "I am way not smart enough. Just graduating high school may kill me."

"That's not true," Shermie protested automatically. "You're plenty smart enough."

Stan gave him a skeptical look.

"You are! You just need to start comparing yourself to people who aren't Ford," Shermie said. "Most people aren't Ford. I'm sure as hell not and look at me!"

"I'm not you either."

"No one said you have to be. I have every confidence that if you really wanted to, you could graduate college. But the fact you don't seem to want to do it means that I'm not sure that will go great. But you do have to do something. Get a job, go to a trade school…I don't know. Whatever it is, you should have a plan. So what are you thinking?"

"I want to earn a million dollars," Stan said immediately.

Shermie felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach. "Is that about what Dad said?"

Stan looked away. "Maybe…"

"Because, really, who wants the approval of a man who can put a price tag on his kids?"

"Spoken like a man who hasn't been valued at literally nothing," Stan muttered.

Shermie didn't know what to say to that. He cleared his throat. "Well, how do you intend to make your fortune?"

"Well, I was going to go treasure hunting or something," Stan said, shrugging. "I haven't really thought a lot about it."

Shermie nodded. "I think you mentioned that the night you…well, you've mentioned it."

"But I'm not sure I want to do that anymore," Stan said. "I mean, that was always my thing with Ford. It would remind me too much of him. Plus I wouldn't want to be too _suffocating_ by continuing to do what we had planned to do together after he wrote me off."

Shermie would argue about that, because things with Ford would get better (they had to), except he really didn't like the thought of Stan roaming around the world looking for treasure. That seemed like a surefire way to end up broke and homeless.

"Well, have you thought about anything else?"

Stan shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, what else am I good at? I'm pretty good in a fight but not good enough to, I don't know, go professional. I'm really good at lying and cheating but, what, am I supposed to go work with Ma as a phone psychic?"

Shermie had been giving this a lot of thought. "You're pretty good with that car of yours. Whenever it has a problem, you take care of it. And when my car was making those weird noises a couple of weeks ago, you managed to fix that, too."

Stan looked surprised. "Yeah, I guess so. What, you think I should be a mechanic or something?"

"I think maybe you should consider it," Shermie said honestly. "You seem pretty good at fixing cars already, you seem to like fixing cars, and we don't have any better ideas."

Stan screwed his face up. "Well, I mean, I guess I could be pretty good at that. It doesn't take a genius to fix a car, after all. And it's always a useful skill to have. But, I mean, doesn't that take more school or something?"

"A trade school, yes," Shermie confirmed.

"I told you, I don't want to go to college."

"It's not college," Shermie countered. "Not exactly. It's two years instead of four and instead of having to take English and History and whatever, you just learn how to be a mechanic. It's just learning how to do one very specific job. And a friend of mine owns a garage a couple of blocks from here. I'm sure you can get a job there and work while going to school."

Stan looked a little shaken. "More school."

"Just a little. Not as long as I went and certainly not as long as Ford's going to go."

"I don't think it's healthy to want to go to school as much as Ford is going to want to go to school," Stan said seriously. "I don't know. It _sounds_ good but this is the rest of my life, you know? Can I think about it?"

"I'd be worried if you didn't," Shermie said. "And if you decide you want to do something else, that's great, too. Just…it's important to have a plan."

"Oh, I will," Stan said, determinedly. "I'll talk to Carla. See what she thinks."

Shermie snapped his fingers. "That reminds me. I talked to Ford about school today."

"Yeah?" Stan asked, feigning casual.

"You were right. It's a good thing I talked to him. He was talking about _Backupsmore_."

"Backupsmore," Stan repeated. "I've…never actually heard of that but the name is making me a little skeptical."

"Good call," Shermie said. "I mean, I have no doubt that Ford could get his fifty PhDs there if he absolutely had to but he'd probably give himself an ulcer doing it."

"Pfft," Stan said. "We all know Ford is going for at _least_ seventy-five."


	6. Chapter 6

The really weird thing about the things that you know you won't survive is that, usually, you do end up surviving it. It even gets to be something approaching easier.

Thrown out of your house and left with nothing? You can get through it. Maybe not everyone in your family thinks like your father does or lives under his power.

Lose your relationship with the best and only friend you ever have? Some days it almost doesn't hurt to look at him. He certainly shows no signs of wanting to have a repeat of their own uninterrupted confrontation.

Realize that the problem with spending years copying off of your brother is that you honestly don't understand any of the material? If you have a few dozen or hundred or however many – too damn many – hours to kill and a couple of persistent tutors you'll more-or-less get it eventually.

Figure out that time is running out and you have no better plan for the future than wandering around beaches looking for treasure that any idiot with a metal detector could find? Work out that regardless of what your parents (who didn't go to college themselves) seem to think, there's miles between college and being a bum and you do have strengths to play to. Make a plan to be a mechanic.

And that was it. He was really doing it. He was really going to go to more school – probably a terrible idea – and work at Fred Abram's garage. It was going to be okay. He…didn't actually know when he was going to move out but Rachel and Shermie kept insisting that he not worry about that just yet. He was probably going to at least try to help out with groceries or whatever.

Ford was doing okay, too. Or so he heard. They hadn't spoken and he tried not to make it too obvious by asking. Shermie sure seemed to want to talk about how he was doing a lot, though. He'd gotten a bunch of scholarships and was headed off to the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in New York. That was a little closer than West Coast Tech had been. Not that that mattered anymore. He didn't actually know what 'polytechnic' meant but that was probably a good sign that it was nerdy enough to make Ford happy.

He still wasn't talking to anyone at school. As much as Stan hated to admit it, that did make him worry. It wasn't like he was talking to all that many people before he had been cast out but now he had a decent group. None of them weren't also Carla's friends but as long as they didn't have a bad break-up that would be fine. Before, when he was barely talking to anyone, he still had Carla and he still had Ford. And Ford had still had him. And, with his always being the smartest one in the room and with the fingers thing, maybe it would be harder for him to make friends but it looked like he wasn't even interested in trying.

He couldn't decide if it was a lack of interest or a conviction that he was too much of a freak for that to work out that was stopping him. Maybe he just didn't know how. Stan was getting better but frankly it was still a miracle that Carla had ever given him the time of day.

And now he was going to graduate. Carla had turned her weird hippie thing into a weird feminism thing and was heading off to Rutgers University which was only an hour away so he'd still be able to see her. Most of their friends weren't going to college. It made him feel a little less weird about it because, while he'd certainly never seen himself as the college type, it had always been pretty obvious that Ford was. Even if Stan didn't want to admit it. And Shermie had gone, too. Who else did he have to compare himself to?

And now it was graduation day.

Technically he had been done with classes for a week now and had celebrated by having a big bonfire on the beach with some people and all of his old school papers. Now _that_ was what he called a graduation party.

Ford was probably going to preserve all of his perfect writings for posterity or whatever.

He had had to show up in the gym an hour and a half early which was just ridiculous. And then when he got there most people had already shown up. All the girls were wearing dresses and all the guys were wearing suits. Even he was wearing a suit although that all Rachel's doing. Personally, he didn't understand why anybody bothered to dress up at all because the robes were so long that nobody could see what you were wearing underneath them. His sister-in-law hadn't been interested in his perfectly sound arguments.

Apparently this was 'a big deal' and 'they were going out to eat afterwards' and all that.

Stan hadn't even wanted to go to graduation. He thought it would be long and boring and kind of a waste of his time.

He had tried telling Shermie this but it was like he was mysteriously deaf and now here he was.

The graduation order was all alphabetical so he was seated next to Ford for the first time in months. Well, okay, the graduation practice he'd had to attend also had him seated next to Ford but that was much shorter. Just stand there, get in the seat, don't make this take forever on the big day.

Ford had a special sash on that probably meant he was brilliant or something. Stan hadn't actually really expected to even make it to graduation so that was more than enough for him.

As he slipped into line behind Ford at the literal last minute (after several graduation organizers had yelled at him), he wondered if he should say something. He had no intention of starting anything today and he was pretty sure – he hoped, at least – that Ford felt the same way. This was their high school graduation.

But what was he going to say? Hi? Congratulations on graduating? He was glad Ford still got into what seemed to be a good school even if it wasn't the one that he wanted that may or may not be working on jet packs.

It was too awkward. He just stared at Ford for a moment, trying to think of if he should say something or not (and it's not like Ford said anything to him), then he remembered that Ford had gotten upset at the staring and turned his attention to the guy behind him. He didn't really know Chris all that well but he could make some small talk until the ceremony began so he wouldn't have to just awkwardly sit there in silence next to Ford.

Then the ceremony began and he tried to listen but it was just way too boring. Everyone was giving speeches (Ford gave a speech. He listened to that) and they brought in a guest to give a speech and it was all 'You can do it. Believe in yourself' and he couldn't care less. Then they were reading all the names and he had to shake hands and get handed a diploma and this was proof. Proof that he had actually done it. Ford was in front of him, leaving the stage and walking back to his seat, and for a moment the urge to pretend that none of this had ever happened, to grab a picture with his brother on their graduation day, was overwhelming.

The moment passed.

He couldn't help smiling. He didn't even want to be here but he had actually done it. He had actually graduated. Shermie and Rachel and Isaac were sitting with his parents and he tried to focus on everyone but his father.

He kind of ignored the prayer or whatever they called it and then they all threw their caps up in the air and he had no idea if he even got his back.

Then it was done. Then they were graduated.

He felt awkward about going back to his family with his father there. Ford would probably go back to them anyway. They could find him when it was time to leave.

He took some pictures with some friends and then turned to see Shermie walking over to him.

"Hey, is it time to go?" he asked.

"Almost," Shermie replied. "It's time for pictures first."

Stan made a face.

"Hey, you worked hard to get here and you might not care now but we do and in thirty years you might be glad that you have these pictures," Shermie said. "Of a day when you still had hair, if nothing else."

Stan laughed and followed Shermie. Right up until it became clear that they were headed over to where the rest of the family (including Ford but minus his father) were waiting.

Stan stopped short. "No. No, no, no."

"Come on, Stan."

"I can't go over there."

"We need to get pictures," Shermie said.

"And whoever has a camera can come over here," Stan said stubbornly.

"Rachel and I and your mother are both taking pictures," Shermie said. "And we want pictures of the both of you."

"Fine by me. I'll be over here when you're done with Ford."

Shermie was quiet for a moment. "I know that this is asking a lot."

Stan snorted. "You should after all this time."

"But we just want a few pictures of you two together," Shermie said. "This is the only chance we're going to have for this. And one day, when you've made up-"

"Who says we're ever going to make up?" Stan interrupted. "He sure doesn't want to."

"You're going to regret it if you don't have a picture of the two of you on your graduation day," Shermie continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"Ah, right, when I'm all old and sentimental," Stan said sarcastically, nodding.

"It will just take two minutes. You can fake a smile for that long, right?" Shermie said. "It may be a lot to ask but this is important. We even managed to banish Dad for this so it wouldn't be any harder than it had to be."

"Well, what about Ford?" Stan asked desperately. "What makes you think he's even going to agree to this?"

"Actually, we talked to him about it first," Shermie said. "We thought he'd be the harder one to convince, what with his having been the one to refuse to have anything to do with you for most of the school year. But he just said that he understood and I went to go fetch you. You don't want to be the one propagating this argument, do you?"

Stan didn't quite know what that word meant but he could guess at it.

"I'm not the one prolonging this," he said.

"Then come over here and have your damn picture taken," Shermie said. "None of the other families have to deal with this crap, I swear to God."

Reluctantly, Stan came over and stood next to Ford who didn't look at him. Well that was fine. He wasn't looking at Ford either.

The two of them smiled and posed as they were instructed and it felt like it was taking far too long no matter what Shermie had said.

Finally, they were done.

"Okay, go find your father," his mother told Ford. "I'll be back tonight and then we can go celebrate."

"Wait, you're coming with us?" Stan asked, surprised.

"Of course I am," his mother said, surprised. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, what about…" he trailed off, jerked his head at Ford.

"We're having a celebratory lunch with you and then going to have a celebratory dinner with Ford," Rachel explained. "I know we talked to you about this."

"Maybe," Stan said, shrugging. "All I know is that I hear the words 'graduation' and I stop listening."

Shermie rolled his eyes. "That explains so much about so many things, Stanley, you have no idea."

* * *

"All I'm saying is that I always wondered what it would be like to be the product of a divorce," Shermie was saying. "I can't say I particularly wanted to find out but now I know."

"You're being dramatic," their mother said. "You are not."

"Sure I am," Shermie argued. "It's Thanksgiving with one and Christmas with another."

"It's celebrating graduation all day, with one meal for one and another for another," Rachel argued.

"Yeah, because Dad isn't invited to this one and we need to celebrate my twin brothers' graduations separately," Shermie complained.

"Even if things were less…complicated…you probably should have done that anyway," Rachel said. "You can't lump them in as one entity forever."

"We didn't mean to," his mother said, sighing. "But I guess the past few months made it clear how much we had been."

"It's so expensive, though…" Shermie complained.

"It's a once in a lifetime event," Rachel said.

"They both have another graduation in them," Shermie pointed out.

"Two years apart, at least. And Ford has more than one more graduation in him."

"Not helping," Shermie said. "And that's not even counting all the split holidays…"

Stan smiled tightly and didn't weigh in on the issue.

They had asked him where he wanted to go for lunch. He didn't really go out all that much except to that diner he and Carla liked and that wasn't the kind of place you wanted to go for a graduation celebration.

He hadn't taken off his robe yet even though everyone told him that he could and that he worse the suit for a reason. He had graduated, damn it, and he wanted the whole world to know.

"But seriously, Stanley, I am so, _so_ proud of you," his mother said, reaching across the table and taking his hand.

Stan smiled stupidly back at her. "Thanks, Ma."

"I always believed in you."

"I always believed in you more," Shermie said.

Rachel whacked him lightly on the arm. "This isn't a competition, Shermie."

Shermie snorted. "The hell it isn't."

"Language, Shermie! You have a baby right there," his mother said, gesturing to Isaac who was happily ignoring them.

That was actually one nice change about living with his brother: nobody cared _what_ kind of words he used. It had gotten him in trouble once, actually, when he had forgotten himself around his mother. One lecture later and he never made that mistake again.

"He's too young to pick up on that kind of thing," Stan told her. He had been trying to get the kid to say 'Stan' for weeks now and the best he could get was 'tan.' And he wasn't even sure if the kid knew that that was him or he just knew Stan always tried to get him to say it.

"Every parent always says that," his mother said. "And every parent is eventually wrong. You should have heard the things Shermie was saying by the time we realized that your father really should watch his language around him."

Shermie smiled brightly at her. "I, for one, would love to hear this story. In excruciating detail."

His mother laughed. "Nice try, young man. You're not going to get me to say those words in public."

"One day. One day," Shermie vowed.

"Do you really not worry about Isaac saying those kinds of things, though?" his mother asked. "You may not know this but I used to curse like a sailor."

Stan laughed. "Pull the other one, Ma."

"No, I did!" she insisted. "And it's harder than you think to stop. If you're in the habit, sometimes you can say a word and not even realize you said it. Someone can point it out to you but you just don't remember saying it. My grandson is going to have the _filthiest_ mouth."

"Actually, I see a lot of kids," Rachel said. "And from what I've seen, kids can't just magically detect the words we don't want them to use. They like to provoke a reaction. So if a child is just repeating the words they hear and they happen to say an undesirable one, the parents freak out and the child learns that that word is more interesting than other words. If they say one of those words and you don't react, they don't make that association."

"Of course, the big problem with that is that you can control how you react to something but you can't choose how everyone else around your kid might react to hearing those words, especially when you aren't around," Shermie added.

His mother crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. "As Isaac's primary non-parental caretaker, are you implying something, Shermie?"

Shermie shook his head. "I would never dream of it. I'm just saying that I think you're going to freak out if Isaac says something and convince him he should say it all the time."

"Maybe if he wasn't _exposed_ to it-" she started to say before breaking off and shaking her head. "Tell me this. No reaction may not let Isaac know that that word is special but how is it going to let him know he shouldn't say that word as he would any other word? I think we all remember the fourth grade incident with Ford?"

"What? I don't know this story," Rachel said eagerly.

"As the only one of us who was actually there, I think I should be the one to tell this story," Stan said. "We were in fourth grade social studies, right? The teacher was asking us something about why the colonists during or maybe before the Revolutionary War had done something or other. Ford raised his hand because of course he did and he calmly said that they did it to piss the British off. Everyone just stared at him and poor Ford was so confused because he'd never heard that was a swear word."

"But it's not," Rachel protested. "Maybe it's not, I don't know, _polite language_ but-"

"At that age, 'shut up' is a bad word," Shermie pointed out.

"Not in front of the baby!"

"Ma, at some point this is getting out of control," Shermie said flatly.

"He was so horrified because the teacher was all 'I expected better of you' and he didn't know any better. It was probably the first and only time anyone ever thought he was cool, though. The class loved him for like two weeks."

Rachel giggled. "Oh, poor Ford. I feel so bad for him! It is funny, though."

Stan laughed, too. "That's what I thought. He was all 'you weren't the one who said it' and I was like 'I wish that I was.'"

It took him a moment to realize he had just told a story about Ford without getting upset and, naturally, that realization caused his smile to dim.

His mother noticed immediately, of course.

"And you're going to go off and be a mechanic! This is so exciting!" she exclaimed. "I always knew he had a way with cars. He learned how to change a tire when he was twelve."

"Ma, you're embarrassing me," he said but he was grinning again.

If this was a day to say nice things about him, he thought that he could take it. And if later everyone would go to celebrate with Ford and he wasn't wanted…well, that was okay, too. He had a party to get to anyway.

* * *

Stan came back that night almost entirely sober.

Carla had apparently decided it wasn't "safe" and "technically illegal" to drive while drunk so by the time she had given him his car keys back he was left with nothing but a quickly-fading buzz. She could be such a buzzkill sometimes.

And it was two in the morning, too.

He didn't have school anymore and work wasn't starting up for another two weeks plus Shermie knew where he was going to be so he didn't think it would be a big deal.

He didn't know the kid whose house they were at for a party but his parents weren't home which automatically made his house THE place to be.

Still, the fact that his brother or sister-in-law had never bothered to wait up for him the way his mother sometimes would (why she did that to herself, she never knew. It always made her stress out more than going to sleep and waking up to find out he came home) did mean that he had to be quiet when coming back into the house.

He had never been all that great at being quiet. But if he woke them up in the middle of the night they were going to be very unhappy with him and the last thing he wanted to do on the day that he had graduated college was to feel like a misbehaving child. If Shermie got back at this time and woke up the whole household, Rachel would be mad but would he get yelled at? Pretty unlikely.

And Isaac was the biggest concern of them all. If he woke up and started screaming then there was a chance that none of them were going to be able to go back to sleep.

Babies. Even when they were sleeping through the night the threat was always there. It almost made him understand what his father always said about how kids ruined your life. Shermie, meanwhile, often made loud references to how having children did the opposite of ruining your life so that was another opinion.

He was going to hit the light switch in the kitchen so he wouldn't have to stumble around (and probably make a great deal of noise crashing into things) in the dark but he didn't have to as the light was already on.

Stan groaned. It was probably Shermie since Rachel had an early shift and there was very little that could convince her to stay up past nine when she needed to be up at five. The last time he had seen her staying up late on a night like that, Isaac had a pretty bad fever. "Seriously? You actually waited up for me? What kind of parental bullshit is that?"

His eyes widened once he actually saw who it was.

Ford was sitting there calmly at the table, a book laying closed in front of him and a teacup pushed just to the side.

What was he supposed to do about this? Why was he even here? Was he waiting for him? Was this somehow Shermie's fault? It was his house and he had always been pretty gung-ho about them talking again. Ford didn't have anything to say to him earlier at the graduation and there had been plenty of opportunities to say something. Did he just want to get into another fight? It was two in the morning and Stan felt the beginning of a headache coming on.

He didn't want to deal with it.

Stan turned to go.

"Stan."

Hating himself just a little, Stan stopped and turned around. "What do you want, Ford?"

Ford didn't answer.

Stan sighed, turned to go again.

"I don't know," Ford admitted.

Stan turned back around.

"I-I've been waiting here for hours. I knew you were at some sort of party. I came after we were done celebrating. Shermie said it was alright if I waited for you. Warned me not to wake Isaac up."

"You've been here for hours," Stan said slowly, walking to the table and sitting in the chair across from Ford's. "And you don't know why?"

"It's not…I wanted to talk to you," Ford said.

"You've had a lot of chances to talk to me."

"I know," Ford agreed.

"You could have talked to me today. I was right by you for hours with that ceremony."

"I thought it was best if we spoke in private."

"Well, if you want to start yelling at me again then I'm not interested," Stan said. "And you'll wake the baby. I know you haven't tried to sleep with a baby in the house…maybe ever…but it is not really something that you're going to want to do."

"I'm not here to fight."

"You just said you don't know why you're here," Stan pointed out.

"But I know I'm not here for that."

"Well," Stan said. "We'll see."


	7. Chapter 7

Stan waited for Ford seemed to just want to stare at him. After a few moments of that, Stan had to concede that Ford was right. It was a little…unnerving.

Was he supposed to go first?

He hadn't been the one who came over here with something to say or with the vague notion that some sort of talk should happen.

He politely stared back.

"I've been…" Ford trailed off, whetted his lips. "I've been thinking about this for a while now."

"Could have fooled me."

Ford winced. "Stan, please, don't be difficult."

Stan laughed incredulously. "Don't be difficult? This is the second time you've talked to me in more than half a year and all you want to say is 'don't be difficult'? The first time, by the way, was when you were yelling at me because having to see me was just too hard for you?"

"Stan, that was months ago," Ford said.

"Everything was months ago! And yet I still seem to be living it. And don't you dare tell me I'm doing fine. Shermie and Rachel are the reason I'm doing fine. And them being there for me doesn't let you off the hook."

"I'm not trying to be let off of any hook," Ford said, beginning to get frustrated. "I just…"

"You just what? You don't even know. All this time you were waiting for me and you couldn't even come up with an answer," Stan said.

Ford said nothing.

"Look, it's late and I'm tired and I want to go to bed." Still nothing. "So you know what? I'm going to make this really easy for you. Have you figured out that what happened was an accident yet?"

"I-I don't know," Ford admitted.

Stan's eyes narrowed and he banged on the table. "What do you mean you don't know? I've only been telling you it was since the beginning!"

"Well, yes, but you could conceivably get something out of it being an accident. Even with being thrown out, there's less sympathy available for someone who knowingly sabotaged me and then didn't like the consequences or had a change of heart too late to matter than for someone who truly didn't mean to do it. And not telling me afterwards was certainly not an accident."

Stan scowled. "I thought you didn't come here to fight."

"You're the one who-" Ford stopped himself. "It doesn't matter. Whether it was an accident or not, it doesn't matter."

"And why is that?" Stan demanded. "Because it's just such an unforgivable sin the fact it broke is all you care about?"

"No because placing too much emphasis on whether it was an accident or not makes it seem like whether it can be forgiven is a values judgment. Like if it was an accident you shouldn't have had any consequences at all and should be forgiven but if it had been on purpose you deserve everything that happened to you and worse and ought never be forgiven."

"I am way too tired to be getting into a philosophical debate," Stan said flatly.

"It's been, as you said, more than half a month. What's done is done. I'm going to a really good school and I don't have to pay for it. I just need to keep my grades above a certain level and I would do that anyway. Do you think I should make whether I forgive you or not dependent on whether you meant to do it or didn't? Say you had done it on purpose. It wouldn't have been because you wanted to hurt me, it would have been because you were too selfish to put what was best for me above what was best for you," Ford said. "Should I stay if it were an accident and leave if it weren't?"

Stan's shoulders slumped. "No."

"I want to believe it was an accident. I've already explained why I have my doubts."

"So…what does this mean?" Stan asked, hating how hopeful his voice was coming out. If Ford were setting him up for a fall…It didn't sound like something he would do but it had been a long time since they had last really been on the same page. Even before the science fair thing. If he never heard the words 'science fair' as long as he lived…

"It means I'm trying to," Ford said.

Annoyance flared back up. "Trying to? Is that it? You came all the way over here to tell me you're trying to forgive me?"

Ford briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's not that easy, Stan. I've managed to come back from what you've done. I'm satisfied with where I seem to be going. But every time I think about what happened…and it's not even so much West Coast Tech although, yeah, that really was my dream. But I trusted you and you betrayed me and how do you get past that?"

"I _never_ betrayed you!"

Ford simply raised an eyebrow.

Stan remembered what he said about how he should have done something, anything, afterwards instead of just propping that piece back on and hoping for the best.

He slumped in his seat. "Yeah. I guess so. But I didn't mean to."

"That much I'll believe," Ford said.

"So if you haven't forgiven me then what are you doing here?" Stan asked.

"I told you, I am trying," Ford said. "I'm sick of being angry. But it hasn't been all that long. I just need time."

"Time," Stan repeated, barking out a laugh. "You know, I've been hearing that it hasn't been that long and you just need more time since literally the night it happened."

"That…would be because if it hasn't been all that long and I still need time right now, it logically follows that any time before this moment had been even less time since it happened and I would need even more time than I do now."

"Pfft. Logic."

Ford's eyes flickered.

"If you keep saying that then sooner or later it'll be five years gone and you'll still be saying that."

"I certainly hope not," Ford said. "That's part of why I came here tonight."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked carefully.

"I miss you."

Was it just him or was his breathing getting loud? It was all he could seem to hear and he listened to it for a moment, vaguely aware that Ford was watching him for his response. But he didn't know what to say. Ford certainly hadn't acted like it. But he didn't want to start another fight. "Oh?"

"I miss you," Ford repeated. "I miss hearing about your day and telling you about the things I'm working on. I miss working on the Stan o' War and watching you goof off in class. I miss sharing a room with you and driving to school together. I just…miss you."

"I thought you said I was suffocating."

Ford had accused him of that months ago now but some hurts stayed with you.

"I did," Ford agreed. "And I miss you."

"That doesn't even make any sense," Stan said.

"These things are always complicated," Ford said. "Or so people keep telling me. I don't know what to tell you. I don't…I don't think that I was wrong to think that we needed some space but I think that maybe that was the wrong way to go about it. You don't go from sharing everything to not even making eye contact overnight. Me going away to college, even only a state away, and you staying here…I think that could be enough space."

"We seem to be able to stay out of each other's way even staying in the same classroom," Stan said.

Ford just looked at him and Stan could feel his resolve crumbling. It wasn't fair that as easy as it was to stay angry at Ford when he was gone, all he had to do was show up and want something from him – literally anything – and suddenly all Stan wanted was to give it to him. It wasn't Ford's fault, granted, but it really wasn't fair either.

"I miss you," he said quietly. "I miss…" How did he put it into words? He missed everything, the good and the bad. He missed just having Ford in his life and he thought he was getting used to living without his brother but just being with him now reminded him how much it _hurt_.

"I know."

Stan shook his head. He was going to find the words. Ford could do it, why couldn't he?

"I miss having to hide your textbooks when you go to the bathroom so you'll actually get some sleep the night before a test. I miss sitting on the swing set for hours. I miss making plans for a million things we'll never do. I miss making no effort to actually look or act like the other one of us but still spending hours trying to convince Shermie that you're me and I'm you. I miss knowing that, whatever else may happen in my life, whoever may come or go, I'll always have at least one friend that won't ever really be gone."

It felt like some sort of barrier had fallen away, not quite like it used to but there was anticipation in the air. A wall was falling somewhere.

Ford sat there, absorbing that. "I don't know why you think you need me."

Stan tensed. "I don't-"

"You can deny it if you want but I think we both know that you do."

Stan sighed. Yeah, that much was true. "Why wouldn't I? I've needed you my whole life."

"You managed to get by just fine without me all this time," Ford pointed out. "You even graduated from high school on your own merit instead of just copying off of me which is honestly how I always thought it would go."

"Me, too," Stan admitted. "Ford, I've been miserable."

"Not the whole time," Ford said. "I've seen you."

"No, maybe not the whole time," Stan conceded. "But enough. Too damn much. More than I would have been if things hadn't worked out like they had."

"I'm not sure that that's true," Ford said. "You'd have been miserable watching me prepare to go off to school, even if it's a lot closer than it could have been."

"I'd have probably gotten over it," Stan said. "That's the worst part. You could be going off to the other side of the country and it's been long enough I think I'd have been okay by now. But instead…"

"Yeah. Instead," Ford echoed. "You have friends, Stan."

"They're mostly Carla's friends."

"And they don't have to like you, too, but they do and you were at a party tonight. You have a girlfriend."

"She gets way too caught up in causes. I thought she was going to run off with a hippie and Shermie had to kidnap me to stop me from driving his car off a cliff," Stan said. "Apparently that's no way to get her to want to go out with you again and she'll just think you're crazy."

"Yeah, I…Yeah, that sounds about right. I'm glad you didn't. Even if I really should have heard about Shermie having to kidnap you."

"Yeah," Stan said meaningfully. "You should have."

"I feel like…I was trying to help you, you know, when I started letting you copy off of me," Ford said. "You didn't get the material as fast as I did and you just got so frustrated when I tried to explain it. I don't think I'm the best teacher, either, since I have problems breaking things down for others and don't really understand how things I understand instantly aren't immediately understood by everyone. And it would take you hours to do something I could do in twenty minutes. I really thought that was the answer."

"Hey, hold up, now, Pointdexter," Stan said. "Who was ever complaining about any of that? The way I see it, you saved my ass there."

Ford nodded. "That's how I saw it then, too. But now the way I see it is that you managed to pay very little attention in school for literal years then when you had to do the work on your own again you managed to catch up really quickly."

Stan barked out a laugh. "Catch up quickly? Are you kidding me? I worked my ass off to catch up and let's not pretend I was making A's. If Rachel and Shermie weren't so obsessed with this whole high school thing then I'd have thrown in the towel a long time ago."

"That's what I'm saying, though. As hard as it would have been to stay caught up, catching up afterwards would be worse. If I hadn't let you slide by…I think I may have helped sabotage your education."

Stan snorted. "My education. Trust me, I wanted to do it myself I would've done it myself."

"My point is, you've had it in your head all this time that I'm the smart twin and you're the dumb twin and that you needed me," Ford said. "And maybe…maybe it wasn't all in _your_ head. But you don't need me, Stan. Not like you think you do."

"I _do_ need you," Stan argued. "I always will. But…you're right, too. I can live without you. I didn't think I could but I can. I don't want to, though."

"I don't want to, either," Ford said.

Stan wasn't going to ask if Ford needed him or not. He didn't know if he would be honest enough to admit it to himself if he did. He was here and that was enough, wasn't it? These last few months without him had to have meant something, right?

"So now what?" Stan asked. "I missed you and you missed me and in the fall you're moving up to New York and I'm staying here and learning how to fix cars."

"I don't know," Ford said. "We have some time. I had the sense not to come over the night before I was leaving."

"At least that," Stan agreed. "But we can't just slap a Band-Aid on it and make it all better. We literally didn't speak at all, except one time that just turned into a big fight, for most of the school year."

"That…got out of hand," Ford admitted. "I am glad that they insisted on taking some pictures of us together today. I wouldn't have suggested it but I did want that."

"You didn't say anything."

"Neither did you," Ford pointed out.

"And what makes you think I want those pictures?" Stan asked.

Ford looked surprised. "Are you really saying that you didn't?"

Stan sighed. "I don't know. We'll have to see how they turned out. But whenever I look at them, I'm going to remember that we might have been pretending to be happy but we still weren't speaking and we were forced into getting them taken."

"I wasn't forced," Ford said softly.

Stan sighed. "That's just it, Sixer. You can't just think these things and trust me to get them. That whole psychic twin thing is a load of crap. If you want to make sure that I know something, even if you think it's obvious, you have to actually _tell_ me."

Ford said nothing.

"You're trying to forgive me for the science fair project and to move on. I'll admit it. I definitely dropped the ball that night and you didn't deserve to pay the price for that. Well, I'm trying to move on, too, and has it occurred to you that I might have things to be angry about, too?"

"Because Dad kicked you out?" Ford guessed.

Stan managed a laugh and shook his head. "This isn't about Dad, Ford. My issues with him are with him and, frankly, if I never see him again it will be too soon. I'm talking about you."

"I already told you, I couldn't have stopped him-"

"And it had literally just happened, I know," Stan interrupted. "I remember. We've had this discussion. But what about the day after that? Did you even ask me if I was alright?"

"Shermie told me that he had taken you in," Ford said. "And you were in school so clearly you were doing okay."

"Or what about the week after that? Or the month after that? Or any time in all the months after that before tonight? No, the only time you wanted to talk to me was to yell at me. I was kicked out by my own father. Even if Shermie made sure I was okay, you just left it at that. For _months_."

"I'm sorry," Ford said.

Stan drew back, surprised.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I shouldn't have let it drag out this long. I should have at least asked about what happened after you were thrown out and made sure you were okay before ignoring you. It's just that once you get an idea in your head, you're mad at your brother and he ruined your chance and it's all so suffocating, it's so hard to get past it. The more time passed where we weren't talking and I didn't know how to change that." A bit reproachfully, he added, "You didn't come to me either."

"How could I? I broke your project. You were the wronged party. And then you said I was suffocating when I didn't even go anywhere near you," Stan said. "Rachel said that if my relationship with you was important then I should fight for it. I don't know how I was supposed to do that. I used to think of all the things I'd say to you if you decided to start talking to me again but I knew I was never going to get the chance to say them. You weren't going to stand there, chastened, while I monologued at you."

"That sort of thing is best for the movies," Ford said.

"How do you fight for a relationship that the other person has decided they don't want? Maybe if someone is busy or thinks they're not good enough or there was a misunderstanding or something else in their life is going wrong then you can fight for them. But when the problem is you…what do you do when you're the problem? I feel like any attempt that I made to do anything at all except leaving you alone would just be proving your point. And if I left you alone, were you even still in my life? Did we have a relationship at all or were you just slipping away?"

Ford looked guilty. "Yeah, I can-I can see that. I could bring up what you did to me and how that's been killing me for months but I think that's beating a dead horse at this point. What really got to me, the night it happened, though?"

"What?" Stan asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"I asked you what happened and you dissembled, talked about how you were just joking around. I told you I didn't think it was a mistake and you said that it was and then immediately started talking about how now it looked like we could go treasure hunting. No apologies, no expression of sympathy, not even a 'there will be other schools.' You didn't even choose to tell me what happened. You just started talking about how now that you had ruined what _I_ wanted to do we could go off and do what _you_ wanted to do."

Stan stared at his hands. "I, uh, didn't think of it like that."

"That much was obvious," Ford told him. "Even if that were how you really felt, it was a stupid way to play it."

"I was just…after it happened I thought it was fine. Then you came in yelling and it clearly wasn't fine. And you were so angry and you wanted it so much…It was an accident. I was just trying to, oh, what's the word? Mina-I was trying to make it seem like it wasn't that big of a deal so you wouldn't be so mad at me. I didn't really think it would work but what else can you do when you're facing down the fact that you fucked up royally? I think that if Dad had given us time to talk I could have made you see what had happened and why and even if you didn't forgive me at least you wouldn't spend months thinking I did it on purpose."

"Maybe," Ford said distantly. "I was glad when Shermie took you in, you know?"

"You were?" Stan asked, surprised. First he was hearing of this.

"I never thought you deserved to become homeless over what happened, not even if you had done it on purpose."

"Then why not saying anything?" Stan asked.

"Because there was no point except making you feel better and that was asking kind of a lot from me just then," he replied. "You going to Shermie meant that I had time to just mourn what might have been without having to have that grief tempered by wondering what had happened to you and feeling guilty because you didn't deserve it."

"Guilt? But why would-"

"It's not always the things we do or can change that cause us guilt," Ford interrupted. "I don't know. I can't help but feel that if Dad hadn't come in, things still would have deteriorated that night and maybe he'd have taken your car or grounded you forever or something but if he had done pretty much anything except what he did, we could have worked this out a long time ago. We wouldn't have managed to avoid each other nearly this long."

"Yeah," Stan said wistfully. "But at least we're talking now."

"I think we should decide, right here and now, that the next time either one of us does something truly horrible to the other – probably by accident, fine – we're not going to just stop speaking indefinitely. We're going to work it out. And possibly call Mom or Shermie or someone in to act as a mediator."

"Uh, next time? Isn't that a bit pessimistic, Ford?"

"It's called being prepared," Ford said. "A scientist is always prepared."

"If you say so…"

"I just…I feel like you've been gone this whole time. You weren't, of course, but I only saw you in passing. I know almost nothing about your life during our senior year."

"Shermie kind of told me about what you were up to, at least as far as you told him," Stan said.

Ford smiled mirthlessly. "I guess I wasn't really receptive to receiving status updates."

"We've never been apart before," Stan said. "And this wasn't truly being apart as we were still both right there." They had even been called to the principal's office collectively a few times but Stan always ended up going, as the one more likely to be called, and only if he were sent back quickly did Ford venture down there. "Is this what people do? Talk about the things they've been up to since the last time they saw them?"

"I guess so," Ford said. "We're going to have a lot of catching up to do once I leave. I, uh, heard you're going to be a mechanic."

"Yeah," Stan said, feeling suddenly shy. What would Ford have to say about that? It had been Shermie's idea in the first place and Carla kept talking about how he always fixed her car and all their friends' cars and his mother thought it was brilliant but what about Ford? What about the guy who believed that getting a B on something was failing? "What do you think?"

"Me?" Ford asked. "I-Does it matter?"

Stan gave him the look that such a ridiculous question deserved.

"I guess so, huh? Well, I mean, it's not something I would ever want to do. But I know you would hate doing what I want to do, too. You seem to be good at it. I think. I don't really know enough to tell. You're certainly better at that sort of thing than I am. And you're still going to school, even if it's shorter, I can't disapprove of that. If it requires some sort of license or degree then that's some level of prestige, isn't it? Maybe anyone can change a tire-"

"You can't," Stan muttered.

"But if anyone wanted to be a mechanic they'd have to work hard and go to school. And after watching you play catch up and actually manage to graduate, I'm confident that you can put the work in."

"Well, uh, I think so, too. Probably."

"Are you going to stay with Shermie?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "It seems like a waste to get my own place when I could be saving up to pay for school. Rachel and Shermie are being amazing."

"As upset as I was about this whole thing, I could never deny that Shermie was being a good brother," Ford agreed.

"It wasn't ever our thing that made me not be able to go home. Or, I guess it's not even home anymore, is it?" Stan asked rhetorically.

"Mom brings you up all the time," Ford said. "Kind of passive-aggressively, actually. Dad never talks about you unless he's complaining about Shermie taking you in."

"Does he?" Stan asked, unsure why he was even surprised. "He never told me that."

"Yeah, well, he wouldn't," Ford said. "He doesn't care what Dad thinks."

"I do," Stan admitted. "I'm trying not to."

Ford laughed quietly. "I know that feeling."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked. "Since when have you pissed Dad off?"

"I haven't," Ford said. "Yet."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

But Ford just shook his head. "Oh, you know. He's not a man easily impressed. I'm sure I'll find a way to do that sooner or later. I'll have to go to Shermie for some not giving a fuck tips later."

"I think it helps that he's a real grown-up with a wife and kid and everything. And he no longer lives there."

"You don't live there," Ford pointed out.

"Shermie wasn't thrown out," Stan countered.

"Ah. There is that."

They sat there in silence for a while.

"How do we do this?" Ford asked finally.

"Do what?"

"How do we rebuild a relationship? I've never had to leave the house to see you before. And we won't be at school anymore. We both said and did some things that we shouldn't have. And wanting to get past it is a good first step but…I don't know. It can't be that easy."

"It might be," Stan said. "Or it might not. I guess we just play it by ear. See what happens. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Probably sleeping most of the day," Ford said. "To make up for not getting any sleep tonight."

Stan rolled his eyes. "On the first day of freedom? BE more of a nerd."

"Alright, what did you have in mind?" Ford asked. "Since apparently sleep deprivation is where it's at."

"How about we work on the Stan o' War? I, uh, still go by there sometimes. Just to make sure no one messed with our stuff."

"It was almost finished," Ford said slowly. "But we're not going to take it out into the world."

"We could always take it around New Jersey," Stan said. "We worked on that for a long time. Might as well go sailing at least a couple times."

Ford smiled slowly. "I think that that would be a very good use of our time."

"It would be fun is what you mean."

"And responsible," Ford added.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Man, it's a good thing you've got me back, Sixer, because you have clearly lost all awareness of what 'fun' actually means…"


	8. Chapter 8

"I want to burn this swing set to the ground," Stan said as Ford dropped onto the swing next to him.

"Please don't do that," Ford said.

"No promises."

"I'm serious; you can get arrested. And it's not like Glass Shard Beach has the resources to rebuild this."

"Well the goal of doing these things is to not get caught," Stan pointed out. "What makes you think I'd have witnesses? No one would ever suspect me. I mean, what possibly motive could I have?"

"I don't know, Stan," Ford said. "What possibly motive could you have for destroying this?"

"Spite?"

Ford gave him an unimpressed look. "Stan."

"Oh, alright. I just think this is a terrible place where terrible things happen."

Ford made a show of looking around and Stan had to admit that it didn't look like a very likely spot. It was a nice view of the ocean and the beach and the sunset. They had been coming there for years for just that purpose.

"Terrible things, huh?"

"And some not-so-terrible things," Stan admitted. "But it was here you told me about wanting to go off to college. It was here I went after getting kicked out and where Shermie found me. And it's here that I'm going to see you for the last time before you leave for college."

"You could go with me," Ford pointed out. "It's a few hour drive but if you're really that worried-"

But Stan shook his head. "No, I can't. You know I can't."

"Do you really think Dad will make a big scene and refuse to let you in the car?"

"I don't know what he'll do," Stan admitted. "But if nothing else, it would make it a miserable experience for you. I'd try to be, you know, civil but I haven't talked to him since then. I don't know if I'd be able to help myself. I doubt he'd be able to, either. Or if he'd even try. And tomorrow is about you. I'm not going to ask you to go through that."

"What if I said I didn't care?" Ford asked. "You should be there to help me move in."

"And _you_ should have a nice stress-free move-in day when you move out for the first time. You want to start off on the right foot, right? I know how hard a bad first impression can be."

"Shouldn't that be my choice?" Ford asked.

Stan snorted. "You're clearly underestimating how badly this could go."

"And I think you may be building Dad up to be more of a bogeyman than he actually is."

Stan shrugged. "Maybe. But when he kicks _you_ out we can talk about who's overreacting."

Ford sighed. "I am going to miss you, you know."

Stan smiled.

"That's not exactly supposed to be something that you're happy about!" Ford huffed.

"It is, though, after this last year of you not talking to me. Sometimes I thought you'd never want to talk to me again," Stan admitted.

"Stan…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I 'catastrophize'," Stan said, making air-quotes.

"Don't we all?" Ford asked. "I never thought I'd never talk to you again."

"Yeah but what good is 'I'll talk to you someday' if you never have a plan to do so?" Stan asked.

Ford bowed his head. "That is my problem, I'll concede. Vague intentions of reconciliation aren't as good as a concrete plan. Because it just sounds crazy, one fight and nothing for the rest of our lives. We were seventeen. But then, a concrete plan to wait two years and then reach out is also pretty stupid. It's like I was trying to punish you or something if I give it a time limit and that wasn't it."

"It wasn't? Not even a little?" Stan asked hesitantly.

"No," Ford said. "Of course not. I mean, what am I to use not having my presence as a punishment? It was about me not being able to be around you, is all. Any sort of punishment you deserved was kind of derailed by Dad doing what he did."

"Well, at least _you_ understand the concept of overkill," Stan muttered. "You might have had a point about next time, after all."

The two sat in silence for a moment, just swinging.

"You are excited to go, aren't you? This polywhatever is a good school?"

"Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute."

Stan made a face. "Even the _name_ sounds too smart for me."

"Yes, I suppose it doesn't roll off the tongue as easy as a certain other school I could mention," Ford said.

"On the bright side, just saying you go to such a smart-sounding place will impress people."

Ford snorted. "I'm not looking to impress people."

"Okay, lesson one. You should _always_ be looking to impress people," Stan said. "Wasn't this school around since the Civil War?"

"1824," Ford corrected.

Stan was reasonably sure that was before the Civil War so that was even more impressive.

"It was founded by the husband of Alexander Hamilton's sister-in-law," Ford added.

"I have no idea who that is," Stan said bluntly.

Ford sighed. "He's on the ten dollar bill, Stanley."

"Oh. One of the presidents then. I know like four president, Ford, you know that."

"No, he was…you don't care," Ford said.

"Not particularly. But this is the last night before you go off to New York forever so you can talk about whatever you want and I'll try not to make you want to bang your head against that slide over there _too_ much."

Ford grinned. "I appreciate the author but history isn't really my thing. And I'm hardly going off forever. I'm only going to be in New York for…however long it takes me to get my doctorate. Hopefully in less than a decade. I do enjoy school but at some point we all must leave and I'm excited to get started on my own work. I don't really see myself as the professor type, you see."

"You say that now. But I can't imagine there being anything in Jersey worth coming back for. You don't know if you won't get a job in New York. There's lots of cool stuff out there, right? Or you could go somewhere even farther away."

"Well, who can say what the future holds?" Ford asked. "I'm coming back for Thanksgiving, you know. That's not so long."

"Yeah, only three months," Stan said glumly. "I don't like that."

"You can come visit me, too, you know. In fact, I expect it."

"Yeah, I guess a few hours is more reasonable than the other side of the country," Stan said. "I would've made the trip, though."

"Yeah, I know you would have," Ford said with a fond smile. "Oh, I can't wait to show you everything!"

Stan laughed. "You haven't even seen it yourself and you already want to show me?"

"Well, I'm excited," Ford said. "I want to share it and I only have limited options."

Stan's smile faded slightly at the reminder that, even now, Ford didn't have anyone outside of their family. Hopefully college would change that. College would have to change that, right? In New Jersey, people were just interested in getting by and maybe getting a diploma out of the deal.

But Ford was going to some smart place he could never remember the name of. That was the kind of place where people cared more about what a huge nerd you were than how many fingers you happened to have, right? It just had to be like that. If it wasn't…well, Stan didn't know what he was going to do but it probably involved punching a lot of people.

It made him feel irrationally guilty that he and Ford hadn't been talking for so long, even if that had been Ford's own choice, because at least he had found other people. Ford being angry at him led to Ford going entire days without seeming to talk to anyone except the teachers. And even for as big a nerd as Ford was, that wasn't alright.

"So…can I tell you something?" Ford asked, sounding a little nervous.

That was completely unacceptable. Stan should be the _last_ person that Ford would ever be nervous around.

"I'm a little offended you haven't told me already," Stan said bluntly.

Ford laughed. "Yes, well. This is a secret and it's really important you don't tell anyone."

"I don't know why you think I would," Stan said.

Ford stopped swinging and turned to look at him. "This is serious, Stanley."

"Alright, alright. Geez. What is it?"

"I…it's about my field of study," Ford said slowly.

Stan tried not to lose the majority of his interest in what Ford was saying but it was hard. What Ford wanted to major in was not exactly what he'd call top-secret news. It was most likely that going to be something really smart that he didn't understand anyway.

"You know how Dad expects me to make this family millions of dollars?" Ford asked rhetorically.

Stan did not even dignify that with a response.

"Yeah, I guess you would," Ford said, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, the thing is, I'm sure that I could. It might not be easy but this is a good school and if I went into the right thing and made the right contributions…well, these things happen."

"I'm not really seeing the problem," Stan said. "Are you afraid that you won't find the right thing or whatever?"

"It's not so much that," Ford said. "Though, I'll admit, I'm not quite sure what area to go into that would lead to the millions Dad expects. I'm just not sure that I want to."

Well that was the last thing that Stan had ever expected to hear. "How can you not want to? You don't even know what area to go to. I mean, maybe the field could be something you hate and you wouldn't want to but you just said that you don't know that. Are you just against making the family millions of dollars for some reason?"

"I'm not," Ford said. "Not exactly. Although, honestly, if I did make millions of dollars I don't think I would share it with him."

Stan stared at him. "Yeah, if I thought he was pissed at me, that's nothing compared to how he'd treat you if you did that. Why wouldn't you share with him? I mean, if you had the money?"

"Because why should I?" Ford asked rhetorically. "If I make the money then it's mine, isn't it?"

"So, what, you want to just hoard your college money?" Stan asked, confused.

"Not exactly," Ford said, shaking his head. "It's not about the money at all. I'm just saying that…but tell me, why would you call it 'hoarding' my college money?"

"Because you would be making money and not sharing it with the rest of us?"

"You sound like a communist," Ford complained.

"I do not!" Stan cried, outraged.

"Stan, what do you even know about communism?"

"They're bad and they spy on us and want to kill us and they're controlled," Stan said. "What does that have to do with this?"

"I…never mind. Look, does it really make sense that a person is supposed to go out and make money and then give that money to their parents? For what, the privilege of having been raised?"

"Well not under normal circumstances maybe not," Stan conceded. He had no intention of giving his father a cent and, by extension, he couldn't give his mother anything. Not that he had much to give. But he did keep insisting on helping Shermie and Rachel out a little, even despite their constant protestations. "But we're talking about if you become a millionaire. Surely then there's a little more to spread around."

"Maybe. And I could do something for them, finally get them out of New Jersey," Ford said. "But shouldn't that be my choice?"

"Well it's not like they can force you," Stan said, unsure of what the problem really was.

"No but they can expect it and react if I don't live up to those expectations," Ford pointed out. "And Dad has shown what he's willing to…respond in extreme and inappropriate ways. If he got mad at you – to put it mildly – for potentially costing our family millions then what's he going to do if I make millions and don't share?"

"I don't know," Stan admitted. "If he's smart he'll try and butter you up and get you to share but he could just as easily lose control of his temper and cut you off, too. Of course, by the time you're in a position to not be sharing millions you won't have to worry about getting kicked out as you'll probably have your own place. Or you could always live with me. I'm getting my own place as soon as I graduate and start making money, no matter what Shermie thinks."

"He being overprotective again?"

Stan nodded glumly. "He doesn't seem to get that there's a difference between me trying to make my own way in the world when I'm seventeen and don't have a job or a diploma and when I'm twenty and will have both."

"Older brothers," Ford said.

Stan gave Ford a meaningful look. "Massive pains, all of them."

"Like I said, it's not that I would have a problem with sharing my hypothetical millions with people," Ford said. "I just hate how Dad, pretty much from the minute the principal told him I was a genius and could make millions, treats this as an established fact."

"Well, I mean, you're a pretty safe bet, Pointdexter," Stan said.

"That's not the _point_ ," Ford said, frustrated. "And not only does he insist that I'm going to make millions, which is an insane amount of pressure to put on a person-"

"Says the guy who wants to get his doctorate early," Stan interrupted.

"Yes but that's _my_ choice. It's what I want to do. Not him. And he acts like not only am I going to make millions but that's entitled to my money. Tell me how that makes any sense at all? He's planning for what happens the day that I make my money and then give it all to him. You have to tell me that you see how deeply fucked up that is."

Stan thought about it. "I guess…sharing your money with your family makes sense. But them expecting it and demanding it isn't? It doesn't seem like that much of a difference, Ford, I've got to say."

"You're the one who keeps insisting intentions matter," Ford said simply.

Oh, yeah, he did do that, didn't he?

"I just hate being used," Ford said. "Have you noticed how much better Dad's been treating me since he realized I could make him money? No, I guess you wouldn't have. Years of him complaining all I do is study and I can't even throw a proper punch and what did he do to deserve a son like me and now I'm apparently brilliant."

"You were always brilliant," Stan said.

"Not in his eyes. I was just going through life and one day the principal bestowed the gift of brilliance on me," Ford said sardonically.

"So we have a crap Dad," Stan said, shrugging. "We always knew that. The rest of our family's good, at least."

"At least that," Ford agreed. "And, honestly, I'd probably give him the money, too, just to make it easier. I don't want to start another huge family drama."

"Well you shouldn't," Stan said. "Buy him a house or whatever outside of Jersey and then leave him to his own devices. It's not your job to support them. They can work. And if he asks for more, which – let's be real – he will, it's not your problem."

"I don't think he'd see it that way," Ford said.

"Probably not. But unless you want to go broke because he spends all your money, you have to draw the line somewhere," Stan said. "That's why I decided, I ever do make a million dollars, I'm not giving him a goddamn penny."

"He deserves your money even less than he deserves mine," Ford said fiercely.

Stan smiled. "Thanks. I, uh, I appreciate that. I don't think I'm going to make a million dollars."

Ford shrugged. "You never know."

"It doesn't even matter. I don't need that much money. I only ever wanted it to prove him wrong about me. But he's not worth it."

"No, he's not. He thought you were worthless and look where you are now! A high school graduate, about to start school, with a job and everything."

"But I didn't get there on my own," Stan said. "I had so much help it's kind of embarrassing."

"Maybe you didn't," Ford said slowly. "But why on Earth should you have been expected to? Nobody goes into the world alone and then somehow manages to succeed. Everyone needs some kind of support from somebody and if Dad really expected you to somehow make something of yourself when he kicked you out when he didn't think you could with his help…Well. I don't think he did think that. I think he was just being cruel."

Stan shrugged noncommittally. "Well, he always says that having children ruins your life."

"That's another thing. Who even says that? Even if it's true? We never asked to be born," Ford said. "He's always so quick to blame everything on everyone else. Is that why he deserves those millions I'm not going to make?"

"Not going to…Ford?"

Ford grimaced. "I guess now we get to the root of my problem with him expecting all that money."

"You're…insecure?" Stan guessed. "Or something?"

"I wouldn't call it insecurity," Ford said.

"Then what would you call it?"

"I know myself. I may not know what I want to get my doctorate in just yet or what I want to do with my life but I can tell you now, it's not going to be in something popular for the moment. Well, probably not. I like to figure things out, Stan. I like to take a mystery and learn everything about it. And you know what? I like anomalies. What kind of money is there in looking for strange things?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "You could always make some kind of show or something. Film all your findings."

Ford laughed. "Who would even watch that?"

"I would," Stan said loyally.

"Well I would hope that you would! If I couldn't even convince you, my own brother, then I doubt I'd have any luck with anybody else. But that would be no good. It would demand that I find things on a regular basis, get results enough to film a season. And I'd have to worry about showmanship. I might find, I don't know, the reproductive habits of lichen to be just fascinating," Ford said. "But does that mean that anybody else would?"

"Ah, that depends," Stan said. "I don't actually know what a lichen is or if there's anything all that interesting about it's reproduction."

"They're composite organisms made up of fungus," Ford explained. "And no, I don't think so, though I'm hardly an expert."

"Oh, is that all? Gross. Maybe you could look for more interesting stuff than that."

"I can try – and I'm really not actually interested in that. May be if it were _alien_ lichen or giant lichen – but why would I want what I can look into to be dependent on what other people find interesting?" Ford asked. "My interests have _never_ lined up with other peoples'."

"Yeah but, like you said, you like all the weird stuff," Stan said. "Just show, like, a ghost or a swamp monster boom! There's your audience."

"You seem awfully certain ghosts and bog monsters exist, Stan," Ford noted.

"I demand to live in a world where we have not just ghosts and bog monsters but vampires and Frankensteins and everything else I've ever seen on TV," Stan said. "I _demand_ it."

"And if we don't?" Ford asked curiously.

"Well, first of all, you'd never convince me of that," Stan said. "And secondly, look into inventing them."

"You want me to…invent ghosts?"

"If that's what it takes," Stan said.

Ford smiled. "Well, you never know. But even in the case where, say, I capture a ghost I don't think that the things I might be interested in, like what causes ghosts and if they have any physical property or leave behind any proof of their existence, would be the kind of thing other people would be interested in. No, I think a TV show would not really be my kind of thing at all. I would knowledge for its own sake, not to entertain and amuse others."

"I could _totally_ handle that part for you," Stan said. "I happen to be really good at both of those things. You'd find the stuff, I'd make it interesting…we could be perfect!"

"We might actually be able to do that," Ford said, tapping his chin. "Our own anomaly hunting show."

"We'd have to give it a different name," Stan said, filled with a sudden need to change the subject.

That sounded too damn much like their plan to sail around the world together. Or rather, not at all like that but still a pipe dream that he needed to know better than to plan on actually happening. He and Ford had actually had a lot of fun taking their boat out this summer but it was never going to be treasure hunting around the world and he'd mostly made his peace with that.

He was sure, if he came back in a few years, and reminded Ford of their plan to do a show together he'd get the same kind of response he did when he reminded him about the Stan o' War. Except maybe this time, given the consequences of lying last time, Ford would actually be honest and let him know he didn't want to do it. He probably would even mean to make Stan feel stupid and ridiculous for taking his brother at his word when he said they were going to do it.

He never understood why people did things like that. Why would they say 'let's do this', completely unprompted, and then never follow through? Let's go ice skating, let's go to the zoo, let's up to Canada. None of those things had ever materialized and it was like they had forgotten they had ever wanted to do them. And he was left holding the bag, never understanding why they just kept making plans and never following through. How hard would it be to just stop saying 'we should rent a boat' if they had no intention of doing it?

That wasn't fair to put on Ford. Stan knew that was just what people did and it was somehow up to him to realize when a future plan was realistic and when if the other person really wanted to do it they'd actually schedule it.

Still, he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

"So, uh, what do you plan on doing for money then? If you just want to research things?"

"Well, that's where I hope to get an academic grant," Ford explained. "You have to really impress them and have an interesting idea for what to study in order to get it but they basically pay you to do your work. Eventually you'd have to publish, of course, but how cool would that be? I just have to be careful with Dad because with grants you can't just treat it like it's your money. It is supposed to be used for just your work and to keep you going, not for paying your father because he wants money."

"I'd like to say that I'm sure he wouldn't do that but, well, I'm on sure," Stan said.

Ford snorted. "Thanks. So what about you?"

"What about me?" Stan asked. "I'm not going to start asking you for money or anything."

Ford shook his head. "No, I mean, we've covered what I want to do pretty well. What about you?"

"You already know what I'm doing. I'm going to that trade school and working in the garage in the meantime."

"Yeah, but that's just what you're doing next week," Ford said. "What do you want to do forever?"

Stan shivered. "Ah, don't ask me that! Who knows a thing like that at eighteen?"

"I do," Ford said.

Stan laughed. "Liar. You just know you want to research shit. You don't even know what."

"Well a researcher is what I want to be," Ford said.

"I don't know," Stan said. "Maybe I'll want to open my own garage or something. I would like to see my name in lights. But I haven't even started yet so that's not the kind of thing that I need to be thinking of. Not for a while."

"Still, it's good to have a plan," Ford said, nodding. "Something to work for, something to make sure that you're going somewhere in life, wherever that may be, and not just treading water."

"I guess," Stan said. He still wasn't really thrilled at being expected to figure out the rest of his life at eighteen but he at least knew what he was doing now and if that changed then that would change. A thought occurred to him. "Hey, Ford?"

"Yeah?"

"Was I the only one that you were talking about this kind of thing with?"

Ford nodded. "The only one. So, again, please keep it to yourself."

"You know, Ford, with all the trust issues we've had over the last year I don't think me not keeping one of your secrets was part of the problem," Stan said pointedly.

Ford smiled sheepishly. "I know. But I've got to come back for breaks as I'd really rather not have to mooch off of Shermie because I couldn't keep it together for a few weeks around Dad. And it would be much easier if he didn't hear anything about it."

"The odds of me ever speaking to that man again are not that great," Stan said.

"True. But you know that Mom couldn't keep a secret to save her life," Ford said. "And, Mom being Mom, Dad may not believe her but you never know."

"Well, the reason I was bringing that up is that I was wondering why I'm the only one you're talking to about this, the night before you go away," Stan said.

Ford shrugged. "It's probably just nerves. It's like, I was trying to get here for so long and now it finally hit me that this is happening. Tomorrow I'm going away and it's never going to be the same again."

Stan crossed his arms. "Now you're just being melodramatic. But, like, I get why you wouldn't want to tell Ma. And she's Dad's wife. But why not tell Shermie or something? He's much better at this whole being understanding and problem-solving thing than I am."

"He is a little older, yeah," Ford agreed. "And maybe I will, I don't know. But you know, Stan, there are some times when the only person that you really want to talk to is your twin."

Stan felt a smile coming and he didn't bother trying to fight it. Maybe it was just sentiment but, while he and Ford still hadn't fixed all of their issues and he still had his insecurities and Ford's insistence some distance would be good for them, for the first time he really felt like they were going to be okay.

What was science fair projects and disappointing fathers and starting off on a career he wasn't sure he really understood in the face of something like that?

Ford had come to _him_ , not because there wasn't anybody else, but because he just wanted to confide in his twin.

In the end, that was enough. It always had been.

"Yeah. I know what you mean."


	9. Chapter 9

Stan had never liked long car rides.

Absolutely never.

When he was younger, he would spend the entire time annoying Ford who just wanted to read in peace. He always suggested that Stan do the same but Stan had never really liked books and he certainly didn't like trying to read them in a car where it just made him want to throw up.

At least he wasn't driving up alone. It was a four hour drive and he could have done it but he might have also died of boredom at least twice on the way up.

Having Shermie along was a great plan as far as Stan was concerned.

His brother might have felt differently after Stan had to go to the bathroom six times. Or when he wanted to stop for a burrito. Or when he tried to play I Spy. Or when he kept trying to see how long he could hold his breath before passing out and then acted like he had just had a near-death experience. Or…basically, Shermie had rarely been so grateful to reach his destination.

"Are we there yet?" Stan asked.

"Did you not literally just climb out of the car after I parked it?" Shermie asked.

A minute passed.

"Are we there yet?"

"We're getting there."

"Are we there yet?"

Stan had been asking that question nonstop since they had gotten off of the highway even though he was not, in fact, a four-year-old child and could probably figure that out for himself.

"Are we there yet?" Stan asked as Ford opened the door.

He was smiling and looking more relaxed than he'd looked in a long time. Suddenly the drive up seemed to be entirely worth it.

"Stanford, I'm going to murder your brother," Shermie informed him before brushing past him into the dorm.

" _My_ brother?" Ford asked. "Does someone need a little refresher course on the transitive property?"

"No," Shermie said. "But I refuse to claim kinship with him right now."

"I might," Stan said. "But then again, I don't want one." A beat. "Are we there yet?"

Shermie threw his hands up in the air. "Yes, Stan, we're here!"

"I don't get it," Ford said.

"You may think that Stan would have gotten less obnoxious about long car rides now that he is, in fact, an adult but you would be wrong," Shermie explained.

"Huh. Remind me not to go on one of those with him then," Ford said.

Shermie looked exaggeratedly near tears. "I have to drive back down with him in a few days!"

"Um…there, there?" Ford said uncertainly, patting Shermie on the back.

"So, are you surprised?" Stan asked, grinning brightly.

"A little," Ford admitted. "When Rachel called and let me know that you two were going to come by sometime in October I didn't expect you to show up on the fifth. It's not even noon yet! Fortunately, I don't have any Friday classes this term."

"Lucky," Shermie muttered.

"Shermie, you don't even have _any_ classes," Ford pointed out.

"I fail to see how that has any bearing on this," Shermie said.

"Shermie made us leave at six in the morning," Stan said, glaring accusingly at his brother.

"And you're the one who wanted to leave last night," Shermie countered.

"Wait, don't you have school, too?" Ford asked. "Or at least work?"

"I blew it off," Stan said, unconcerned. He flopped down onto Ford's sofa and his brothers took their seats as well.

Ford shot an alarmed look at Shermie. "You can't just blow off things like this in the real world, Stan!"

"He means that he schedule himself to not have any work until Monday and he called in sick."

"I told them I was dying!"

"Yeah, his excuses may need some work," Shermie said.

"I can't even believe that Rachel called you and spoiled the surprise," Stan said, pouting.

"She didn't tell him when we were coming, just that we were," Shermie said.

"And? What part of 'surprise' makes you think of 'warning the person about it'?"

"Well, maybe it makes it less of a surprise but I was glad to get the call," Ford said. "It gave me a chance to tidy up and to let Eric know you were coming."

"None of you people have any proper appreciation for surprises," Stan complained.

Ford and Shermie exchanged a glance.

"You people?" Shermie repeated. "Ford, should we be offended by this?"

Ford nodded solemnly. "You know, I really think we should."

"Also, who the hell is Eric?"

"He's my roommate," Ford said. "He's alright. Absolutely no interest in DD&D but I did meet a group that plays informally on Tuesday nights so I've got that covered. He's a serious student and his Tesla poster looks really good next to my Carl Sagan poster."

"Can I once again register my objection to the fact that you don't have pictures of hot girls like a normal person would but you would have pictures of scientists?" Stan asked.

Ford nodded. "You may but it's not going to change anything."

"That Tesla guy is a scientist, right? I feel like you wouldn't like the poster if he wasn't."

Ford threw Shermie an anguished look. "How are he and I related?"

"That's an easy one, Sixer. We're twin brothers."

"So it's good to hear that you're making friends," Shermie said.

Ford smiled. "Yeah, believe it or not I really am. I'm kind of nervous because, well, this is all new to me but no one here has even _heard_ of Glass Shard Beach and everyone keeps accusing me of making the name up."

"Oh, we couldn't imagine Glass Shard Beach if we tried," Shermie said grimly.

"You complain but you're the one who is continuing to live there," Ford said.

"One of these days, I'm moving to California," Shermie declared. "Rachel promised me we will not be in that hellhole forever."

"I don't even get why you hate it so much," Stan said. "Everyone always called you our normal brother."

"You don't need bullies to appreciate the sheer terribleness of a place that doesn't even have enough self-respect to not call itself Glass Shard Beach. I mean, who would want to go to a beach that advertises it might have glass shards in it? That is no way to inspire tourism."

"Of course, the fact that it is in New Jersey is also no way to inspire tourism."

Shermie shook his head. "You don't get to say that. Only _we_ get to say that." He gestured between himself and Stan.

Ford looked confused. "Come again?"

"Only New Jersians get to complain about New Jersey," Stan explained.

"Guys, I'm from New Jersey, too."

"Really?" Shermie asked, making a big show of looking around. "Because it kind of looks like you have a pretty cool New York apartment."

"It's a dorm," Ford said flatly. "And I've been here for two months. What, when you move to California are you going to disqualify yourself as New Jersian?"

"I'll disqualify myself when I'm not letting the door hit me on the way out," Shermie replied. "And I'm never, ever telling anyone of my dark secret."

"I love how being from New Jersey is now a dark secret," Ford said.

"Shhh!" Stan said. "Someone might here you."

Ford looked around at his otherwise empty apartment. " _Who_?"

"I don't know," Stan said, shrugging. "CIA? FBI? Whichever one spies on you."

"I think both of them do that," Shermie said helpfully.

"You two are ridiculous," Ford said. "Please leave."

Stan just laughed at that. "So, uh, I don't know how to ask this subtly-"

"You have literally never said or done anything subtly in your entire life," Ford interrupted. "Don't start now."

"But how's the hand thing going?" Stan asked. "Do I need to kick anyone's ass? Because, let me tell you, after twelve hours in the car I'm kind of itching for a fight."

"It wasn't twelve hours, Stan," Shermie said. "It was four and a half. Trust me. I was timing. If any of us should be the one exaggerating the time length, it is me."

"Well, you're free to exaggerate if you want," Stan said. "I'm not exaggerating, though. I just sincerely believe we were there for sixteen hours."

"It was twelve a minute ago," Ford said.

"Was it?"

"Please don't attack anyone from my school," Ford said. "You look too much like me for that to end well."

"That depends on what I hear," Stan said, crossing his arms. "Don't take that as a reason to lie to me, by the way! I want the truth!"

Really, what Stan wanted was to hear that nobody was giving Ford any crap. But he only wanted to hear that if it happened to be true. He was usually the type to want the ugly truth rather than a beautiful lie, even though he had a bad habit of telling those lies instead of the truth.

Ford was looking at him with a soft smile. "It's fine, Stan. I haven't had any real problems."

"Okay, but there's a difference between no _real_ problems and having no problems at all," Stan pointed out.

Ford shrugged. "It's just more of the same."

"More of the same was _terrible_ ," Stan pointed out.

"No, not like that. I mean, there's no Crampelter here," Ford said. "It's just that sometimes when I go out and people see my hands they stare but I only ever had anyone say something to me when I was around some drunk guys. And, I mean, I can take some staring."

"You can," Shermie agreed, "but you shouldn't have to."

"Yeah, well, there are worse things in life than people staring," Ford said, not exactly disagreeing.

"When people stare at me it's only because I'm devilishly handsome," Stan bragged. "We look sort of alike-"

"Sort of?"

"So that could be part of it."

"I'm pretty sure their attention is mostly focused on my hands," Ford said.

Stan cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know. I don't have any weird hand things but, on the other hand – get it? – I think you have a perfectly nice-looking hand."

"Should I feel weird about hearing him say that?" Ford asked.

"Maybe a little," Shermie said, trying to stifle a laugh. "But take the compliment."

"What do you think, Shermie?" Stan asked.

"As someone who also doesn't have any weird hand things and is not about to go judge his brother's hand attractiveness, all I can say is that if you _do_ have a weird hand thing, Ford certainly does have more hand to love."

"I am not here," Ford said. "I am not listening to this. And I am not going to start worrying about being kidnapped by people with weird hand things."

"That's great," Shermie said. "Of course, neither of us said anything about being kidnapped so that's really on you."

"Yes but I could tell you were going there," Ford said.

Stan nodded. "I was absolutely about to go there."

Ford grinned smugly. "See?"

"And _this_ is why I was the normal brother," Shermie muttered.

"Which is weird because you chose to be an accountant. On purpose," Stan said.

"That is like the more normal job in existence," Shermie protested, frowning. "Whereas Ford wants to…something something…the weirdest shit he can find."

"Oh, don't leave it at 'something something'," Ford said. "You know how that sounds."

Shermie leaned forward. "Actually, dear brother, you'll have to tell me."

Ford just made a face.

"Eh, people researching shit is pretty normal, I think," Stan said. "And no math!"

Ford cleared his throat. "Well, actually-"

"Not now, Ford," Stan interrupted. "But it really doesn't bother you?"

Ford smiled a little sadly. "Is a little staring is the worst I have to go through…and it's not like I can change that. People always stare at unusual things. And I suppose the longer I'm here the more of an established presence I'm going to be and the less of an oddity so less staring."

That wasn't good enough. That wasn't good enough by a mile. By what could he do? Fact was, people just staring at Ford (assuming that Ford was even being truthful and not trying to downplay it out of shame or a desire to not upset his family) was already loads better than how it had been before. And you couldn't force people to not find something strange. He was definitely going to think about it (maybe walk around with Ford looking completely ridiculous and covered in like face paint or whatever so no one would pay any attention to the perfectly normal six-fingered guy. Ford would probably hate it. Maybe something to consider for the next visit).

He cleared his throat. "So, uh, speaking of Crampelter-"

"Were we?" Shermie interrupted, looking confused.

"Maybe briefly like ten minutes ago," Ford said.

"I might have keyed his car two weeks ago," Stan said proudly.

Ford's eyes widened and he looked like he didn't know if he should laugh or start lecturing. "You didn't."

"He did," Shermie confirmed. "Assuming that that's what you want to call what he did. This is the first time he actually admitted it even though we all knew that he had."

"Oh, please," Stan said. "I have an alibi."

"You got Fred to say you were working," Shermie said. "You're also in the middle of confessing right now."

"Oh, right," Stan said, turning back to Ford.

"What do you mean 'if that's what you want to call it'?" he asked.

"Oh, well, I did key his car. I just might have scratched the words 'eat a dick' into it instead of just a line," Stan explained.

"Stan," Ford said, torn between amused and concerned.

"It's fine," Shermie said. "Well, I mean, I'm actually a little concerned about his whole revenge fantasy thing but he's not going to get caught for this. Or that other thing."

"Other thing?" Ford asked apprehensively.

"Geez, you make it sound like I'm some kind of serial killer or something," Stan complained.

Shermie crossed his arms. "All I'm saying is that serial killers have to start somewhere."

"Yeah, with, like, torturing animals or something. I just drove his car into a ravine after he got it fixed. And that was really your fault to begin with."

Shermie snorted. "Go ahead, Stan. I would absolutely _love_ to hear how this is my fault."

"Well you wouldn't let me drive Thistle Downe's – and there's no way that that's his real name – car off a cliff. But that just got me thinking that that I really wanted to drive _someone's_ car off a ravine. So Crampelter indeed. He's lucky I'm not a budding serial killer, _Shermie_ , or else he'd totally be first."

"And that would just get you caught right away," Shermie pointed out. "Just like how everyone suspected you of the car keying and the ravine thing and people had to lie to give you alibis."

"Pfft. All the cool serial killers start with people they know."

"Stan, stop plotting how to be a serial killer," Ford ordered. "Shermie, are you seriously telling him not to be a serial killer just because he'll be _caught_?"

"Hey," Shermie said defensively. "You try explaining ethics to him. I gave up months ago."

"I understand ethics!" Stan insisted.

His brothers gave him unimpressed looks.

"I do! I just…don't really care about them…" Stan said.

Ford looked helplessly between the two of them. "Should I even leave the two of you alone together?"

"Probably not," Stan said cheerfully. "Nothing for it now, though."

"We're not alone," Shermie said. "Rachel and Isaac are there."

"The fact there's a baby there just makes it worse," Ford said, sounding pained.

"You're really not going to thank me, are you?" Stan asked, narrowing his eyes.

"For what? Destroying Crampelter's car?"

"Yes," Stan said, nodding.

"No, I'm not going to thank you. You could have been arrested."

"But I wasn't," Stan said.

"Because people were willing to lie for you! You have to be more careful."

"Tell me that after I've been arrested," Stan said. "Before that, I can't possibly take this seriously."

"I give up," Ford said, staring at the ceiling. "I just…give up."

"Now you know how I feel," Shermie said.

"I hate you both," Stan declared. He paused. "But, you know, that was just how strangers stare at you and stuff. You didn't talk about the people you actually knew."

"Oh, well, I get some questions," Ford said. "Pretty basic stuff. People wondering if my fingers are fully functional, why they weren't amputated as a baby-"

"Why would we cut your fucking fingers off?" Shermie interrupted, looking disturbed.

Ford shrugged. "I guess lots of babies who are born with extra digits have them removed. But since most of those don't seem to be just regular fingers like mine, I suppose that would make more sense. Some people want to know if it runs in my family or if you and I could be identical twins with you only having five fingers-"

"You hear that?" Stan asked, delighted. "He's told people about me!"

"Congratulations," Shermie said.

"And one guy asked me how I flip people off with six fingers," Ford said.

"Well, that's easy," Stan said. "You…actually…I don't know the answer to that."

"Yeah, I honestly don't think I've ever done that before," Ford said.

"Well, let's figure this out then," Stan said. "You have a normal thumb and pinky so one of the four in the middle is the extra one. You could pick your one middle or other middle finger, or you could use both of them."

"I just feel it would be really awkward, though," Ford said. "And I've never needed to flip anyone off before. I'm sure I can do just fine continuing to not need to do this."

"But it's good to have a plan," Stan protested.

"I'll, uh, think about it."

"What does Eric think?" Shermie asked.

Ford grinned. "Actually he's really into anatomy so he thought it was so cool that his roommate had six fingers."

"That's…kind of weird," Stan said. "I mean, I'm glad he's not a jerk but it's weird."

"It's better than the alternative," Ford said, shrugging. "And if you think that's weird, you don't even want to know about the skeleton in the closet. Which I've just told you about. Sorry."

"Skeleton?" Shermie asked. "What skeleton?"

"There is literally a skeleton in the closet," Ford explained.

Stan promptly got up to go check. "Yeah, I see it!"

"Okay, good. We're fairly certain it's not actually human bones but, I mean, can you ever be _completely_ sure?"

"I see we're back to serial killers," Shermie said. "Joy."

"Hey, I didn't built it and neither did Eric," Ford defended.

"It is kind of weird, though," Stan said, flopping back down on the sofa. "I mean, why would he even need one of those?"

Ford shrugged. "I don't know. He's just really into anatomy."

"Oh, are we talking about serial killers again?" Stan asked, excited.

Shermie raised an eyebrow. "See?"

"He didn't build it!"

"That you know of," Stan said. "And his needing it is weird."

"I just would have thought, all things considered, that you wouldn't be so judgmental about weird things, Stanley," Ford said.

"I just think that not all weird things are created equal and you having six fingers and being such a big nerd and liking weird things is one thing and this guy being a literal serial killer is quiet another," Stan explained logically.

"I love how you two have turned my roommate into a serial killer," Ford said but it sounded more like he was complaining than actually thanking them.

"Hey, don't blame on!" Shermie said, holding his hands up. "It's not like we came here and suddenly he's been a long-time serial killer."

"Yeah, he's like Jack the Ripper or something!"

"Do you even know when Jack the Ripper was around?" Ford asked, exasperated. "Or anything about him?"

"I'm going to go with 'maybe the 1600s' and 'he likes ripping things.'"

"Well, kind of, and the late 1880s," Ford said.

Stan's eyes widened. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Shermie?"

"God, I hope not," Ford said.

Shermie nodded. "I'm pretty sure I am. Ford's serial killer roommate is Jack the Ripper and is an immortal monster who must be stopped at all costs."

"Could we get an exorcist or something?" Stan wondered.

"I'm not sure that works on undead serial killers," Shermie said. "It probably couldn't hurt."

"Or at least not us," Stan said. "Ford, you're so brave to have lasted so long living with such evil. Then again, I suppose you've had a lot of practice living with Dad. Then again, he probably hasn't killed as many people."

"You guys, _stop_ …" Ford pleaded. "He's going to be back any minute and how am I supposed to explain to him why my family has decided that not only did they drop by without giving us any real details about when they were coming but they've also decided he's a demonic serial killer or something?"

"Did we say demonic?" Shermie asked.

"I don't think we did," Stan replied. "Ford must know more than he's letting on."

Ford rolled his eyes. "You two are the worst."

"I'm hoping he'll be dazzled by our incredible detective skills," Shermie said.

"That seems incredibly unlikely," Ford said.

Shermie nodded. "You're right. He's probably going to be too busy panicking us and killing us and hiding the evidence. Sorry for getting you murdered, Ford."

"Well, at least I'm getting _some_ kind of apology for something," Ford said, sighing.

"He's glad to see us," Stan confided.

"Oh, yeah. He wants us to come every weekend," Shermie agreed.

"I will kill you both," Ford threatened.

" _Now_ who's the serial killer?" Shermie taunted.

"I think we were the only ones accusing people of that," Stan said. "He didn't."

"Ah. I mean, now look what you and Eric are accomplices together in!" Shermie corrected himself.

"How is that I'm the one having a normal life, just going to classes and making friends and all that while Stan apparently drives cars into ravines-"

"That was one time and you can't prove it!" Stan exclaimed.

"And yet I'm the one you guys are coming up with really weird conspiracies about?"

"Well, I mean, what's the point of a boring conspiracy?" Shermie asked reasonably. "It's like no one even cares to figure it out."

"And we already know the kind of things that _we_ get up to," Stan added. "We're just now hearing about your secret life here."

"Besides, you know we love you, Ford," Shermie said.

"Yeah, yeah," Ford said grumpily.

"I think I like this place," Stan said quietly.

"Really?" Ford asked, surprised. "I haven't even given you guys the tour yet."

"A tour would be nice," Stan said. "But I like it already."

"Stan's easy," Shermie explained. "And that car ride might just have killed him."

"Fifty hours, Shermie! I can't even think of the ride back!" He turned back to Ford. "But seriously, I don't even need to see the rest of the campus. I already know I love it."

"Do you just not want a tour or something?" Ford asked, confused. "Because actually it's really interesting and there are some things that I think you would particularly like."

"Well that certainly sounds nice," Stan said. "And I'll go on all the tours you want to give me, Ford. I was just saying that I already know that this is a great place because of how happy you are here."

Ford smiled at him. "You never know. I could have terrible taste."

"Well, in roommates and decorations, I'll grant you that," Stan said. "But as to the rest of it…nah."

"Yeah, I mean if any of us knows how to evaluate a school it's probably you," Shermie said.

"I'm just…really glad you guys came," Ford said. "I love it out here but, I do have to admit it, there still are some good things about New Jersey. Even if most of them are in New York right now."

Stan grinned. "Even if we keep accusing your roommate of horrible things and are probably going to get him arrested before we even meet him?"

"Uh, yeah. Please don't," Ford said. "I want him to like you guys."

"We'll be _fine_ , Ford. Relax. You really do worry too much," Shermie assured him.

Of course, that was when Eric came back and Shermie and Stan both screamed and hid behind the furniture.

Still, at least they don't throw things.

Ford really should count his blessings instead of loudly denying he even knew them.

Things could always be worse.

He could always be stuck at Backupsmore with no brother.


End file.
